


We only hurt the ones we love

by deneich



Category: Daria (Cartoon)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 74,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deneich/pseuds/deneich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This Story is in response to an Iron Chef challenge on PPMB. </p>
<p>The challenge was as follows:</p>
<p>Your challenge, should you choose to accept it:</p>
<p>During the fight shown in "Boxing Daria", what if Daria had run away from home rather than retreating into the box? Must include:</p>
<p>*reactions from all the Morgendorffers and the repercussions in their lives.<br/>*Daria growing up with another family (Bonus points if it is not the Lanes)<br/>*A chance meeting between the two, they don't necessarily have to recognize each other, just interact</p>
<p>After accepting the challenge, I'd planned a short (less than 10,000 word / no more than 5 Chapter) story...hah,hah. Now that the story is at eleven chapters an over 35,000 words – and growing – I've decided to publish it as a stand-alone story.</p>
<p>So, without any further ado, for your enjoyment: We only hurt the ones we love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer, _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

Chapter 1:

As she stared at the freshly placed glass of soda while sitting in a well worn booth of a down-scale chain restaurant; Daria had to admit, that of the many possibilities her decision to end – unannounced – her estrangement and return to her family might involve. The fact that said family had up and moved (to only God knew where), was absolutely, the possibility she was most unprepared to pursue. Had it really been almost nine years since she had made the decision to escape from the yelling and fighting of which she was the cause; to run away with only a book bag stuffed with – what, for a six year old, were essentials – a change of clothes, a blanket, a box of Ho-Hos and her hard bound copy of Black Beauty. Daria – at that time – wasn't certain what Deity had watched over her; but, somehow, as a six year old, she had managed to not only climb aboard a freight train and emerge – unscathed – two days later in central Idaho, but to then convince a secluded community of ultra-fundamentalists she had been fleeing her drug-addicted, prostitute single Mother. They had fallen for her remarkable tale and taken her in; stating it was obviously the hand of God that had delivered her from iniquity into their devout and God-fearing fold. 

Her recollections were, temporarily, intruded upon when the Waitress had returned to take Daria's order; but as soon as the order for pancakes, bacon and hash browns had been placed, Daria returned to her thoughts over the events that had led to her current predicament. The Elders of the Community had given over guardianship of Daria to a childless couple in their forties; who had genuinely and lovingly looked after Daria's every need. Daria wasn't certain when it had happened, but over time, George and Eileen Davidson became Mom and Dad in her heart. The peaceful, quiet, predictably, structured lifestyle of her adopted community produced a calming, agreeable effect upon Daria and soon memories of her prior life had retreated to an infrequently visited corner of her mind. By the age of eleven; however, Daria, started to feel somewhat alienated, not by the adults – the adults found her quick witted, inquisitive and competent in the Scriptures – but with the fellow children. Even after five years as a member of the community, Daria was not a favored playmate of any of the children; slowly she found herself invited out to play less and less, until, eventually, she was only invited to play when the other children were forced to by an adult. At that point – finding few opportunities to actually spend her allowance and other small gifts and earnings; Daria began to save what monies she received – secretly – in the space under a loose floorboard beneath her bed. Over the following four years she had managed to save over a thousand dollars, of which a portion was soon to be used to pay for her hungrily anticipated meal. 

Hungry? Yes, Daria was certainly hungry. In the preceding forty eight hours she had subsisted on only candy bars and bagged snacks purchased during the short stopovers while awaiting the buses required for the four legs of her journey. First was the overnight trip from Boise to Denver, then the second overnight trip from Denver to Amarillo and then the shorter trips comprising Amarillo to Lubbock and finally downtown Highland. Where now - Due to that blasted TV show - she sat tired, stiff, aching, hungry and apparently no closer to her family. The TV show had been a serendipitous accident, an incredible, world shattering accident, which had led to four months careful, detailed planning. The logistics of choosing bus routes, budgeting scarce resources and awaiting a suitable opportunity had taken so long...too long. If they had not been visiting her Dad's Brother's family in Montana – there was no television in her home – Daria, would have never even known the heartbreaking truth.

The sound of her food being delivered prevented further self-castigation. As Daria silently ate, she replayed the relevant portions of the show in her mind. The show was a special on run away children, specifically, children gone for so long law enforcement had presumed them dead and had closed their investigations. During her time with her Mom and Dad in Idaho, Daria occasionally wondered how her decision to run away had affected her family back in Highland. She had been a disruptive misfit, the catalyst slowly rending her family asunder. So, without her, they must be happier, better adjusted. Her Family was better off without her; this was the rationalization that Daria fell back on to defend her decision to run away and then to stay away. That all changed, suddenly, that night as she watched the television show and saw them, her parents, emotionally expressing their loss, their pain and their faith that their oldest daughter was still alive. Then – to Daria's utter astonishment – the camera angle changed and before her was her sister, Quinn. Quinn was looking straight at her through the camera, saying how she missed her older sister and prayed every day for her to return. Quinn was beseeching, imploring, with tear streaked cheeks, for Daria to, please, come home and make their family whole. Then the camera returned to her parents who reiterated their daughters plea for Daria to return home. That for nine long years they have missed her. Daria only became aware that she'd been crying...hard, when the splitty-splat sound of the tears dripping from her chin onto the rim of the dinner plate had registered in her ears and returned her mind to the here and now. After lifting her glasses and using a paper napkin to wipe the tears from her face, Daria took several deep slow breaths and slowly brought herself under control. She was making a spectacle of herself...that, simply, would not do. Changes to her plans needed to be considered, She certainly had no intention of spending one second longer then absolutely necessary in the cesspool called Highland, Texas. God, why hadn't she just called first. Stupid self-reliance. 

She had been surprised when a young couple had answered the door of her old house in Highland. While cordial, there was little that they could tell her as to the whereabouts of the previous owners. The only useful information they could provide was the name of the realtors involved in the sale. So, hopefully, tomorrow she would learn the new address either from the Realtor that sold the house, or possibly from the local Post Office, if one was allowed to request a forwarding address. One thing was certain, her rear-weary, grayhound bus riding days were not quite yet over.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer, _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

Chapter 2:

With her hunger sated, Daria returned to the bus depot waiting area and found herself a vacant three seat sectional bench along the back wall of the large and far too brightly lighted room. The bench came with immovable metal armrests installed in order to prevent a person from laying out and sleeping (at least that was Daria's take on their designed use). However, the seats were slightly curved and well enough padded to allow a five foot two teenage girl enough space to curl up and take a nap. So, Daria pulled her feet up, leaned her right shoulder into the seat back and prepared to do just that. Observing the clock above the entrance to the waiting area read 3:11am; Daria set the alarm on her wristwatch to 7:15. With her left arm protectively hugging her backpack to her chest and her chin resting comfortably on top, Daria, with her left forearm as a shield against the intense brightness of the overhead fluorescent lighting, closed her eyes and surrendered to her need for sleep. 

 

That morning, after taking a few minutes washing the sleep from her face and brushing her teeth, Daria – after a fine breakfast of “Ho-Hos” and a heavily caffeinated soda – headed out to the address given for the Realtor who had handled the sale of her former home. As she entered the Realtor's Office, Daria was immediately greeted by the Realtor; a professionally dressed, middle aged lady whose face held a warm, pleasant and entirely sincere smile.

“Hello Miss, may I help you?”

“Yes, I was wondering, if it was possible to get a contact address for a recent client?”

“Normally, no.” the Realtor replied, but quickly added “Unless – of course – the Client has, specifically, requested me to do so. What's the Client's name?”

Well, Daria mused: in for a Penny, in for a Pound. “Morgendorffer”. 

“Oh, Then this is your lucky day!” The Realtor replied, her pleasant smile quickly transforming into a full blown ear-to-ear grin. “The Morgendorffers not only gave me permission, they left a stack of printed sheets with all their new information: address, phone numbers, new employers...the whole nine yards. Just give me a minute to remember where I put them. Okay Miss...I'm sorry, I didn't ask your name.”

Reflexively, Daria gave her pseudonym, the one she had been living with for more than eight years. “Cassie Winters.” 

“Okay, Cassie, please, have a seat while I find that paper for you.” 

As the Realtor went to search her office, Daria sat and considered what this information, ultimately, represented. As Daria Morgendorffer, it meant the future, the return to her real identity; inversely, as Cassie Winters it meant the end, the death of what she held as her true identity. Cassie Winters had gotten off the bus in Highland; however, by accepting the – soon to be located – paper from the Realtor, Daria Morgendorffer would be the one boarding the bus out of Highland. Rebirth or Murder? They were two sides of the same coin and, even though the choice was never in question, that didn't make it  
any easier on Daria's conscience. George and Eileen Davidson had raised her from a six year old little girl; showering her with love and through their actions had given her a healthy respect for God, family, work and, eventually, for herself. As parents they were patient and understanding, but also firm and God fearing; this balance was a blessing and Daria would thank God – every day – for having found them. Her love for the Davidsons was real, but so was her love for her family. Why did one have to end? Why did people she loved have to be hurt? Why was life rarely fair? The Davidsons deserved better than this: Than a hastily written letter Daria had mailed from Denver, than never again seeing the girl they considered their daughter. Self-castigation had, lately, become a popular pastime, so Daria was inwardly grateful when the Realtor returned with the misplaced paper allowing her to focus on something less soul rending.

“Cassie, here you go. Hope this will be enough. Unfortunately, I'm expecting a Client and need to get ready.”

As Daria took the proffered paper, she scanned it and was stunned by the amount of information it contained. “Yes, this is much more than I expected. Thank you so very much. God bless you.”

“why thank you, and God bless you too.” At that moment the front door opened and a young couple came in. by the Realtor's reaction, it was obvious that these were the expected clients. so Daria took the opportunity to take her leave; walking past the clients she turned, smiled and waved goodbye to the Realtor. 

Walking back to the Bus depot, Daria couldn't help but stare at the address: 1111 Glen Oaks, Lawndale, Maryland. Well, thankfully – thought Daria, the bus depot contained a coffee shop with internet access so finding the nearest major city to Lawndale wouldn't be a problem. Then I can get the tickets and schedule for my – joy of joys – next bus. Probably wouldn't be a bad idea to also do a little research on the town itself while I'm waiting. 

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer, _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

Chapter 3:

After the return ride to Amarillo, a three hour layover, and a freshly purchased copy of “the Sun also Rises” in hand: Daria boarded the Memphis bound bus. It had been Saturday morning when her journey began in Boise, and there were still two more days until it ended in Baltimore – Daria mused – six days as the guest of Greyhound bus lines...no doubt about it, I've reached the ninth circle of Hell. Several hours later, Daria had read over 150 pages of the Novel and was surprised to see that she had just entered Arkansas. Taking a break to rest her eyes, Daria contemplated Hemingway's compact, no nonsense prose. It was startling how Hemingway could, in two to three sentences, construct an image in Daria's mind's eye, that any author – familiar to her – would need a full page, if not more, to accomplish. However, even with the hedonistic bent of the main characters, The casual attitudes towards sex and excessive drinking: Daria was held spellbound by Hemingway's word painting. 

While waiting on her next bus in Memphis, her Novel recently finished, Daria sat discreetly observing her fellow travelers. Though not scandalized by the provocative outfits and coarse – sometimes vulgar – manner of speech and behavior, Daria was, indeed, bemused by the unfamiliar environment. With auburn hair worn in a braid ending between her shoulder blades, black round glasses (the only vestige of her long ago forsaken life), ecru button front blouse with three quarter length sleeves and blue denim knee length skirt marking her as one to be eschewed by those she observed. Solitude had it's benefits; although, after four days, Daria was more than ready for a little human interaction. Unfortunately, the shibboleth that admitted one to the subculture she'd been observing was unknown, so Daria continued to sit and await, with mounting apprehension, her destiny. 

Silent prayers and much needed sleep helped make the remaining portion of the journey pass quickly and early Thursday morning Daria stepped off the bus in Baltimore. After a forgettable breakfast and with a regional route schedule from the information kiosk in hand, Daria went in search of the stop for the MARC bus headed to Lawndale. The bus dropped Daria in the center of Lawndale's downtown business district just before Noon. So – after providentially escaping the notice of several police agencies and private security services during her journey – not wishing to draw attention to herself in the middle of a school day, far too early to expect anyone to be at her family's home and seeing no better options: Daria chose to lay low for a couple of hours in a nearby book store. Breakfast, however,  
proved to be as insubstantial as it was forgettable and by three in the afternoon Daria was simply famished. 

Thankfully, the map section of the book store had a reasonably detailed map of Lawndale and after writing down directions to her family's address, Daria headed in that direction in search of her next meal. After five or so minutes walk, Daria came within sight of a small strip mall that contained a pizza restaurant. Remembering having heard that, unlike the baked tiles with spicy ketchup and imitation cheese that passed for pizza in Idaho, east coast cities – reputedly – baked pizza that was not only eatable, but delicious; Daria made her way towards the group of stores. Having proceeded only a few steps a flash of orange exiting the restaurant stopped Daria dead in her tracks. Just like from the TV show four months prior, the same orange hair, it was her Sister...Quinn. Dirty and hungry, and more than afraid her Sister wouldn't recognize her, or worse yet...recognize her and create a scene; Daria quickly stepped into the entrance way of the nearest storefront and, when certain she was hidden from view, stared at her Sister. Quinn was speaking with another girl her age – a brunette, slightly taller, with her hair worn in twin pigtails – and from the distance of roughly 75 yards, it wasn't possible to hear their conversation; however, from Quinn's body language it was obvious she was not happy. Something the other girl said seemed to placate her Sister and a few seconds later they turned and walked away in the direction opposite to Daria. After taking a moment to get her emotions under control and compose herself, Daria continued on her way and a couple of minutes later found herself inside what was apparently the local teen hangout. Scanning the crowded restaurant and finding all the tables and booths occupied, Daria was just turning to leave when the throaty sound of someone calling out “yo!” caught her ear. Turning back Daria saw that, in the booth at the far opposite corner from the entrance, a girl – her own age – seated alone was motioning with her left arm for Daria's attention. As Daria was crossing the restaurant the girl stood and spoke: 

“If your looking for a seat, I'm alone, you're welcome to join me...if you'd like?”

Standing three or four inches taller than Daria the girl had a lean, lithe athletic build with long legs, encased in black leggings and ending in heavy – very masculine – boots. Ebony hair in an asymmetrical cut complimenting a heart shaped face decorated with multiple hoop earrings and fire engine red lip stick fought to balance two of the deepest, most intense, blue eyes Daria had ever seen.  
The eclectic red and black color motif continued in the girls shirt, shorts and jacket created a style that was, in Daria's mind, unique, individual, bohemian. Noticing the girl's questioning gaze, Daria realized she had been quietly staring for a moment longer than one would consider polite and quickly responded:

“Yes, I would. Sorry, if I was staring...you're look took me a moment to properly appreciate.”

“Really?” the girl responded. “I just thought you might not want to be seen with the resident outcast.”

“By the way, my name's Jane.” The girl said as she extended her right hand towards Daria. As they shook hands, Daria was surprised by Jane's strong grip, rough skin and the callousing on her palm and finger pads. Jane looked on quizzically as Daria released from the handshake, slid her right hand under Jane's and pulled it palm up to within six inches of Daria's glasses. At that closer range, Daria could see traces of multiple color pigments left in the valleys of Jane's finger and palm prints; a quick sniff confirmed the slight odor of turpentine. 

“Is this how humans greet each other where you come from? The sniffing and all is a bit to canine for me, personally...but interesting.” Jane remarked, still staring quizzically at Daria. 

“No. just confirming a suspicion. Either you paint houses for a living, or you are one seriously intense artist.”

“The latter” Jane replied. “I'm impressed. You got all that from a handshake?” 

“Well, I took some lessons in painting from a couple who were neighbors of mine. Their hands felt very similar when I shook them. So after smelling the turpentine, it was all elementary.”

“Studied painting did you? Somehow, I knew inviting you over was a good idea.”

With that Jane retook her seat and motioned for Daria to take the seat across from her. As daria sat down, she noticed Jane had a half eaten slice of pizza in front of her that smelled delicious.

“Which type of pizza are you eating, Jane? It smells heavenly.”

“It's the carnivore super special. If you love meat...lots of meat, then this ones the bomb.”

“Okay, good. I'll try it...would you like another slice? I'll get it while I'm ordering mine.” 

“That depends, are you planning on eating more than one slice? If you are, then yes I would. It'd be rude for me to sit here and watch you eat.” 

Shaking her head, to confirm she'd understood Jane's answer, Daria headed to the counter and placed her order. A minute later she returned to their booth carrying her soda.

“The person at the counter said the pizza we want is in the oven. They'll bring the slices over in about five minutes.”

The two girls conversed comfortably about nothing in particular while waiting for their pizza and after the waiter brought out the slices, the conversation continued as they ate; each reveling in the newly found and warmly welcome companionship. Later, as they were finishing their meal, Daria remarked:

“Jane, I can't remember the last time I've enjoyed a conversation more than ours today. Thank you, It's been wonderful.”

“Same here mi Amiga. Hopefully, you're planning to hang around in our little 'burb for awhile.”

“That remains to be seen, I'm here to visit a family that moved here recently...the Morgendorffers.”

“wait, the daughter, Quinn left just before you arrived. Can't believe you missed her. Who are you? A friend of the family? A relative come to visit?”

“You might say that. I came in to pass the time until I was sure they would all be home for the evening.” As Daria looked down at her watch, she continued: “let's see, it's 5:45, probably time I went and said hello.”

“Hold on” Jane said, then placed her left index finger to her lips and became quiet for a moment. Then shaking her head slowly side-to-side, she said:

“I hate to rain on your parade, but Quinn was sitting in the booth behind me and I happened to overhear that she wasn't going to be home this evening. She wasn't happy about it either. Seems she and her Dad are being drug along by her Mom to some work affair. According to Quinn, one of her Mom's bosses is being honored by the Rotary, Kiwanis or another one of those sphincter smooching societies. Guess you'll have to try tomorrow.”

“Is there no balm in Gilead” Daria moaned, and after a moment, slowly, audibly exhaled.

“Oh well, looks like another light sleeping in a bus station. Maybe, I'll see you around.” With that said, Daria reached for her backpack and started to get up from the booth.

“whoa, stay where you are.” Jane ordered “Friends don't let friends sleep in bus stations...look, our place has far more available bedrooms than any house deserves. You can stay with me tonight...whatta you say?” 

Then a concerned look fell upon Jane's face and she asked: “hey, what's your name, by the way? Somehow, it didn't get mentioned during the introductions...and why are you slumming in bus stations, anyway? The Morgendorffers weren't expecting you, at all, were they? So, tell me...who are you?”

Daria swallowed while thinking to herself 'here we go...in for a penny, in for a pound. She'll know by tomorrow anyway; might as well tell her the truth. Shame I was really enjoying our time together.'

“No, I didn't and no, they're not. I'm Quinn's older sister, the name's Daria. 

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer, _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

Chapter 4:

I watched Jane's eyes reduce to narrow slits, as her mouth bent into a slight but pronounced scowl. “I share three classes with Quinn: Art, Gym and Spanish II. We're not friends, particularly, but she's mentioned the difficulties her family's been through, whenever a false lead as to her Sister's whereabouts surfaces. People have even pretended to be her Sister for publicity, or – worse – for Money. If you're here for either of those reasons, then just hit the road now and save them the heartache!”

Stunned, I was only able to spit out “Excuse me?” then just sit there numbly staring at Jane. The thought that people had pretended to be me for personal gain had never crossed my mind. What perverse nightmare was I in the process of orchestrating?

Then Jane proceeded to look intensely at my face. After an uncomfortable few moments withering under her intense gaze; Jane's eyes slowly transformed to immense blue orbs; as her mouth silently worked in a manner reminiscent – to me – of a fish out of water. Then, some internal realization brought focus to her eyes, Jane, apparently thinking out loud, uttered in a loud whisper: “Oh. My. God! The slope of your jaw line, your cheekbones, the shape of your nose: impossible, but, yet, it's unmistakable. The family resemblance is uncanny. You...My God!...You, really, are her Sister.” 

As relief flooded through me, I could feel a small smile pull at my lips. “That's what I said.”

Jane suddenly turned and proceeded to rifle manically through the backpack lying next to her on the bench. A moment later – her searching over – she slammed an open notepad and pen onto the table and said in a rushed, declarative voice: “Daria! Can I have your autograph? You know, to prove that I knew you before you become famous. Then later on, I can sell it to pay for college.” The self-deprecating smile now playing on Jane's face made it clear that the previous utterances were just to steer the topic away from having accused me of being an imposter. Jane was embarrassed and needed me to confirm that there were no hard feelings; So I reached for the proffered articles, more than willing to play along.

With the notepad in front of me and pen in my hand, I froze as a gut-wrenching fact entered my thoughts; I simply had no idea how to sign my real name. Jane noticed my hesitation, as well as my perplexed facial expression: “what's wrong? Deciding whether or not to charge me?”

“Heavens No, Jane. I...this is embarrassing...I don't know how to do it.”

“What?” Jane asked “You mean how to sign your name? How's that possible?”

“Jane, you don't understand. I haven't been living as Daria Morgendorffer; for over eight years I've used a pseudonym...Cassie Winters.” 

“Okay. Now my curiosity is, really, piqued; spill it Morgendorffer, where have you been hiding out?”

“Idaho. In a small community about an hour north of Boise. A very kind couple, the Davidsons, took me in and raised me as their own”

“And this couple never attempted to find your parents?” Jane's incredulous look spurred me on to expand my explanation.

“Well, Jane, I kind of told the Davidsons that my mother was a drug addict and a prostitute with no concern for my well being. I also told them, that if they registered me with social services, when my mother dried out and started missing the welfare checks my dependent status afforded her; she'd come and take me back. I told them the thought of being returned to her terrified me.” When Jane nodded her head for me to go on, I took a calming breath and continued. “It was the only lie I ever told them. They believed me and, like all lies, the result only brought heartache. They believed God had guided me to them. They accepted me as a gift; I feel terrible about it.” After taking another moment to maintain my composure “They showed me nothing but respect and unconditional love; Please, Jane, don't misunderstand me, I fully reciprocated their feelings. It was just after seeing my family on TV a few months ago, it became obvious what I needed to do...to be with my family; that my choosing to leave – in the first place – had been a monstrous miscalculation. Now here I am, hoping to repair all the damage I've created.” I chuckled, ruefully, and shook my head in a meager effort to clear my darkening mood. Then the answer – completely unbidden – came to me a moment later. 

“you know, while not usually intended for such circumstances, first Corinthians 13:10-13 seems appropriate.” 

“I suppose so, but for the benefit of little Janey here, how is it appropriate?”

“Oh, I'm sorry. You're not familiar with the verses I've mentioned. When's the last time you studied the Scriptures”

“Uhmmm...I'd have to say...never. Sorry, just never seemed important.” 

“Well, in my opinion, important is an understatement; however, that's best saved for another day. The verses quoted go something like this: ” but when that which is perfect is come, that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I felt as a child, I thought as a child: now that I am become a man, I have put away childish things. For now we see in a mirror, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know fully even as also I was fully known. But now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; and the greatest of these is love. “”

“Okay. You just quoted Scripture and verse to me...from memory! I'm not sure whether I'm impressed or weirded out. Sorry, but you're the first person I've ever met, let alone a friend, who could do that. It'll take me a little while to get used to that...okay?” Then Jane regrouped and continued “but the verses were beautiful and, you're right, very appropriate. But now I'm even more confused, what kind of community did you grow up in, really?” 

“It's a small, self-contained, relatively fundamental Christian community of about 500.”

“Fundamental? I've heard that word used before, but have no idea what it means.”

“In its most extreme form, Jane, it means an absolutely literal adherence to the Scriptures. That every word is to be believed and followed as written. In our faith, the literal applies mainly to the new Testament. We are also a community of pacifists, that believe in the absolute equality of all God's children. The ten Commandments, the Beatitudes and the golden Rule are what we use to live a moral, God pleasing, life.” 

“Sounds good. Yes...yes, really good.”

“You didn't understand me at all, did you?”

“uhmmm, Daria?...define understand. Some of what you said made sense to me. I'm just not good with this religion stuff...sorry.” The sheepish, slightly defeated look on Jane's face made it clear we needed to switch topics. She was definitely overwhelmed but afraid to initiate a topic change without offending me.

“Hey, Jane, if the offer still stands, do you think we might head over to your house. I'm really beat.”

Obviously relieved, Jane got up, grabbed her backpack and motioned for me to do the same. “Yeah, sounds good. Next stop Casa Lane.” with that said we exited – what I now knew was – pizza Prince.

As we walked the conversation bounced around without any set topic or direction; when Jane made mention of how tedious some assignment at her school had been, I reflexively uttered: “Arbeit macht das Leben süß.” At this Jane stopped and faced me with a slightly shocked look. “What?” Was the only answer I could manage.

“Daria, wasn't that the slogan on the sign over the entrance to Auschwitz?”

“Heavens, no, Jane. That was “Arbeit macht Frei”. It was a hideous lie the Nazi's used to trick the Jews into entering the camps. What I said translates to: “Work brings sweetness to life” basically, it means the satisfaction one feels from hard, honest work done properly, can itself bring satisfaction to one's life.”

“So, I take it you speak at least a little bit of German. Where'd you learn?”

“I've studied German since I was nine from a neighbor in our community, Herr Oberschmidt. It was an independent study in conjunction with my standard studies at our community's school.” 

We walked on silently for a few moments as Jane digested that information. As she guided me from the sidewalk onto the walkway towards a yellow clapboard two story house that was in desperate need of fresh paint; Jane slowed a bit and asked: ”Guess you believe that cleanliness is next to godliness, don't you.”

Puzzled by the comment I simply said: “A clean house reflects well on the person who lives there. Good work ethic and the like; Know what I mean?”

“yeah, yeah. Good work ethic.” As she worked the doorknob, Jane looked me in the eyes and rather tentatively said: “Uhh, Daria, in that case I hope you don't think too badly of me.” then she pushed the door open and led me into the house. 

As I stared into the only slightly less than filthy entrance way and adjoining living room with it's threadbare furniture and the detritus of daily life scattered everywhere: Only one verse felt worthy of the sight I beheld. “Philippians 4:13...Philippians 4:13.”

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer, _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

Chapter 5:

“I take it that I don't really want to know the meaning of that certain verse...do I?” Jane spit out as she turned to face me. There was no anger in her voice. In my opinion, the testy edge to Jane's words seemed more self-berating and this was confirmed as I took in the still sheepish look in her eyes.

“Yes, Jane, you do. That Verse is possibly the most affirming and comforting in all of the Scriptures.” I paused momentarily; then, certain of Jane's attention, softly smiled and recited the verse that made up such an important portion of the foundation upon which my life had been built.  
““I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Jane, you've offered me the hospitality and shelter of your home and I'm grateful. Without having met you, where would I be right now? Please, I can't stand the possibility, that I'm making you uncomfortable in your own home.” Realizing I'd been rambling on a bit, I took a cleansing breath and looked again at Jane; Seeing confidence returning to those striking blue eyes I simply concluded my apology. “Sorry, if I did that.” 

“Well, the house is a mess and I was feeling a tad self-conscious about that but I'm fine now; so, let's say we go upstairs and get you settled in. Okay?” After a nod from me, Jane turned and headed upstairs motioning for me to follow. As we reached the second floor Jane turned and proceeded to the right. “Like I said earlier, we've got lots of room to spare; the only decision left is which room to give you. Think we'll try my sister Penny's old room...see if you like it.” That said, we stopped and Jane, simultaneously, opening the door to the room in front of us – presumably, her sister Penny's old room – and nodding her head slightly towards her left shoulder invited me to enter the room.  
The room contained basic, form-through-function furnishings: a bed on slat frame, a small writing desk and chair, a low, medium sized round table with lamp. A large, rectangular, central-American inspired weave rug occupied the center of the floor and was surrounded by haphazardly dropped pieces of ladies clothing. Masks, prints and photos hanging from the walls continued the central-American motif. Although a bit messy, the room was clean and the utilitarian furnishing appealed to me; nodding my assent I set my backpack onto the low table and carefully sat on the bed to test it's firmness. The mattress was still quite firm and indeed comfortable.  
Satisfied with the offered room, there remained a few chores still left for me to complete, but before I could ask, Jane, sensing my musings, correctly interpreted their meaning and took the initiative. “Guess you'd like to take a shower and change into fresh clothing, so let me show you to the bathroom and leave you to it. You'll find soap and shampoo in the shower and towels are in the closet just past the bathroom on the right.” 

“Thanks, Jane, but first I'd like to do my wash; I've only packed three changes of clothing and they're all dirty. Actually, I was hoping you might have something I could wear while my clothes are being washed. I know it's an imposition, but it would save my having to do a extra load of wash.”

“Hey, no imposition at all, let's go to my room, I'm sure I can scrounge up a pair of sweats that'll fit you. I may even have a pair of undies...if you're interested. Then we'll take the grand tour. After that I'll go running and give you some time to yourself. Just beware, my brother, Trent, could come home anytime; not that he would mind you staying over, just try and avoid wandering around in a towel or in your underwear...unless you're into that sort of thing.” Jane said the last part with such good-nature and kidding humor to her voice; it was impossible to take offense, even though the whole idea was scandalous. 

“Yes, thank you, Jane, sweats and undies would be a great help. How long do you think you'll be running?” The smirk gracing my face made it clear, while not offended, I would not qualify her last comment with a response.

“Oh, I don't know...at least an hour and a half. Got lots of excess energy I need to burn off. Why do you ask?”

“Just want to budget my time properly so I'm out of the shower before you get back. I assume you'd like to take a shower when you're finished your run and would like there to be some hot water left when you take it. Also, I want to have dinner ready after-wards.” 

Jane looked at me incredulously, “Dinner?? Well, Guess we could hit Cluster Burger after my run.”

Now it was my turn to look incredulous, “Cluster Burger? No, that simply will not do. I've been living on preprocessed junk food for the last week; Jane, if I do say so myself, I'm a better than fair cook who, tonight, would like nothing more then her own home cooking. Plus, it'd be my pleasure to cook for you and your Brother.”

“Sounds good, except, we haven't got anything in the house to eat. With just the two of us there's little reason to stock up on food; it usually just lays in the fridge and rots...sorry.”

The way Jane was fidgeting it was obvious that she was leaving something out of her answer; fortunately – for Jane – the sound of the front door closing and feet upon the stairs interrupted the conversation. Jane then called out “Trent” and waited for a response. A moment later as the footsteps drew nearer to the source of Jane's voice, a gravelly male voice, replied “Hey, Janey” then in the doorway, tall, rail thin with tussled black hair and goatee stood Jane's Brother. Multiple piercings in each ear similar to his Sister and blue tattoos – in what I assume to be a Polynesian pattern – encircling both arms mid-bicep, Trent was neither particularly handsome, nor did he appear overly intelligent and his demeanor seemed far too casual; however, as I peered into his kind, gentle eyes my heart skipped a beat and the warmth of a slight blush rose in my cheeks. I quickly shook my head, regaining my composure, all the while wondering what had just happened. Trent, seemed – thankfully – unaware of my reaction and asked simply, “New friend, Janey?”

Jane, on the other hand, was sporting a Cheshire cat sized grin confirming that she, indeed, was aware of my reaction. “Yeah, Trent, this is Daria, met her at Pizza Prince, she's new in town. Offered her Penny's room for the night.” 

“cool” was Trent's only reply.

“Daria's cool, alright. Matter of fact she can quote the Bible...Chapter and Verse; can't you, Daria. Go on, give Trent an example.” 

“Well Jane, Proverbs 17:28 seems appropriate. “Even a fool who is silent is counted wise, he who shuts his lips is counted as discerning.””

Surprisingly, Trent, laughed at this. Well not really a laugh, more like a raspy chortle that devolved into a cough. “Good one, Daria” was his reply, when the coughing ended, followed by, “Janey's right, you are cool.”

“Uhmmm, Okay, thanks” was my timid reply. Needing to – once again – regain my composure, I turned to my now no longer smiling friend, “Maybe it's time for the grand tour you promised, that way we could have dinner by nine.”

The mentioning of dinner caused Trent to quirk his left eyebrow slightly and caused Jane to once again shift uncomfortably. 

Trent was the first to speak, “Sorry, Daria, but we've got no food and, after paying some bills today, no money to buy any.”

So, this was the real issue. They're embarrassed that they can't afford food. Well I can, and if I handle this the right way then no feeling should be hurt. “I have a suggestion, You've given me a place for the night, let me repay your hospitality by paying for some groceries and cooking us some dinner...Okay?”

Jane looked at me curiously for a moment, then exhaled and pursed her lips slightly as she crossed her arms across her chest. “Fine, sounds like a fair arrangement. Let's get the tour underway so I can change and start my run.”

As we headed downstairs, I asked Trent if he wouldn't mind doing the shopping. He nodded yes, so as we entered the kitchen I retrieved the pad of paper and pen laying by the telephone and quickly wrote down the ingredients needed for dinner. The list finished, I tallied the items: pound and a half chicken breast, onion, two bell peppers, half pound button mushrooms, six large tomatoes, bulb of garlic, can chicken stock, a stick of butter and a bag of thick egg noodles. After adding a bag of salad greens and a bottle of Italian dressing as well as ingredients for tomorrow's breakfast I figured $40 would easily suffice; pulled out the remaining cash from my right front pocket, peeled two twenties from the top and placed them on the list which I handed to Trent.

“Trent, by my calculations, this should cover everything; however, you probably have a better idea as to what groceries cost here...will $40 cover it?”

Trent studied the list carefully, “Daria, this will cover everything, along with a pound of bologna, cheese and 2 loaves of bread. Is that okay with you?”

“Really? Food is cheaper here then I expected...Yeah, go for it.”

With that decided, Trent headed out shopping and Jane led me down to the basement. With the location of the washer and dryer pointed out, Jane, with me close behind, headed back upstairs through the kitchen and living room and up the stairs to the second floor. This time she turned to the left and as we walked along the hallway she pointed at a door up ahead on the right “Bathroom” that done she stopped and opened the door at our immediate left and entered the room. By the number of canvases leaning against the walls, paint splatters and an easel standing, prominently, in the center of the room it was obvious this was Jane's room. 

“wow, I'm impressed this is a serious studio. Mind if I check out your work?”

“Go ahead, if you must. I'll get the sweats and undies.” 

I'm not certain when Jane's mood had shifted but by her last remark, she was seriously irritated. 

“Jane, please, tell what I've done to upset you. I know we've only just met, but our friendship means a lot to me. Please, forgive me...whatever it is I've done.”

“Daria, Trent and I are not charity cases. Yes, we're struggling, but we don't need or want hand outs...capiche?? I tried to nicely discourage the idea of dinner, because...because, hell, because going to bed hungry is normal in this house. I'd prefer going to bed hungry, then being full just so you can stroke your God damned greater then thou Christian Ego!”

'Dear Father in heaven guide me, show me the way through this. If I've been prideful or unmindful of their dignity, please, give Jane the strength to forgive me'. My prayer offered, I turned to Jane and allowed the words to come out. “Jane, if my actions have insulted you, I'm sorry. I had no idea they could cause such hostility. I had so I shared. Please, Jane, understand that. I was only returning kindness with kindness, friendship with friendship...please, forgive me.”

“Forgive you. I don't know. First explain the $40, that's not chicken scratch yet you handed it to Trent like it had, absolutely, no value. Help little Janey wrap her head around how that wasn't arrogance...think you can do that?”

“Jane, remember earlier when I explained the guiding principles of my faith. The ten Commandments, Beatitudes and the Golden Rule.” It took a minute but Jane nodded yes. “Well, Money is a tool, the portable equivalent of the fruits of our labor. For me to give it any more worth than that, to covet it, to cherish it, to horde it: would be sinful. Jesus teaches us in the Beatitudes: Blessed are the poor, for the kingdom of God is yours. Blessed are those hungering now, for you will be filled. Then he teaches: But woe to you, rich ones, for you have your comfort! It's not arrogance that I give what little I have freely; it's the profession of my Faith.”

Jane just stood there first looking me in the eye, the slowly down at her feet. Several minutes passed in silence, then quietly Jane began to speak.

“Daria, I've done stupid things but blaming you for being a true friend has to be – by far – the most stupid. I cursed at you and you want my forgiveness? I'm the one who should be asking...not you. I'm sorry, please be here when I get back. I, really, need that run; I've got a lot to think about. I need a good friend, but I've all but blown my chances with you...how pathetic is that?”

“Jane, you're forgiven. I don't see any damage to our friendship; go enjoy your run. I'll be here when you get back...I promise.” I smiled, hoping Jane would look me in the eye, slowly she met my gaze and, tentatively, gave a small smile in return. 

“Okay, forgiveness and all. I'm good, and after my run I'll be much better, thanks to you Amiga. I'll also be very hungry, so what pray tell are you making for dinner?”

“Chicken Cacciatore over a bed of buttered egg noodles with salad and Italian dressing. I was hoping you'd come back hungry; I'm making plenty.”

“Chicken Cacciatore! I love Chicken Cacciatore! It's been forever since I've had it. Quick, get out so I can change. I need to get running.” 

 

To be continued...


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer, _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

Chapter 6:

In order to have full loads of similar clothes to wash, I convinced Jane to let me take most of the dirty laundry from her room...thankfully, she seemed relieved by the offer. Now, as I sorted the colors from the whites from the delicates, some of the finer differences in our lifestyles lay apparent before me. While I wore plain white panties and bras, Jane wore much frillier and more colorful underwear; Lacey bras, panties in varied cuts all in a vibrant rainbow of colors. The panties Jane had lent to me – which I had reluctantly tried on – was a perfect example; more rectangular in shape, than my triangular panties, and in a shade of blue that matched her eyes. Wearing them, however, I had to admit – while strange fitting at first – the way they sat lower on my hips was quite comfortable. In sharp contrast to her underwear, Jane's choice in clothing was vaguely androgynous, totally devoid of feminine tailoring or detail; straight lines to match her lithe frame in severe colors. The dichotomy between under and outer garments was striking and to me more than a little bewildering.  
With the sorting completed and the delicates washing, I headed up to the kitchen to search out the cookware needed to prepare dinner. Pots in place, utensils at the ready and with fifteen minutes remaining til the current load of wash finished: I headed upstairs and showered. Clean, re-energized, far more relaxed after my shower and – once more – clothed in Jane's loaners, I returned to the kitchen to find Trent just arriving and in the process of placing the groceries onto the counter.

“Hey, Daria, got everything on the list including the sandwich fixings...here, even have a few dollars left over.” 

“Normally, Trent, I'd say just keep it, but Jane was adamant about refusing charity. I don't want anymore awkward situations over money; Trent, what do you suggest we do?”

“Well, I don't want to speak for Janey, but something happened to her last year – as a freshman – that's made her, really, touchy about accepting gifts or trusting people. Seems Janey became friends with another freshman at school and the girl ended up spreading rumors about her being poor and needing help. Janey was stung by the betrayal...it, really, hurt her; the girl offered her a couple of outfits that Janey had only accepted so as not to offend the girl. I'd appreciate it, if you wouldn't mention it to Janey...unless she brings it up. Like I said, she's still touchy about it...actually, I was surprised to see you in Penny's room, you're the first person Janey's hung around with in months. I'm glad she's ready to try the friendship thing again.”

“Trent, thanks for taking me into your confidence. It's hard to explain, but I'm glad Jane's ready to try the friendship thing again, too. Being with Jane just feels right, our strengths and weaknesses compensate each other; the ways we think, though vastly different, just mesh. What you've told me explains a lot, trust me, I wouldn't hurt Jane.”

As I unpacked the groceries, Trent looked, thoughtfully, at me for a moment, “It's cool, Daria...hey, can I help you with anything?”

“No, Trent. I've got it. But, if you wouldn't mind, you could save Jane and I some time after dinner by doing the dishes...I promise there won't be many left to do; I tend to clean up as I go. That way Jane can get to her homework, I'd sort of offered her a hand with history...okay?”

“Yeah, not a problem...okay, I'll just head upstairs and leave you to it.” That said, Trent turned and strode out of the kitchen and up the stairs as I headed to the Basement to start the next load of wash.

There's a reason Chicken Cacciatore is so popular, It's quite a simple dish to prepare. Since Trent had gotten boneless, skinless Chicken breasts, the time cubing, sauteing and simmering the ingredients took less than twenty minutes; so by the time Jane returned from her run all that remained was to drop the egg noodles into the already boiling pot of water. The aroma wafting from the simmering meal acted like a beacon and Jane was presently at my side inhaling deeply and making unmistakable “yummy” noises.

“Enjoy your run, Jane?”

“Yes, it really helped, cathartic actually. Look, I'm, really, really sorry.”

No one will ever accuse me of being a huggy, touchy-feely sort of person, but, hearing the tone of Jane's voice screaming need and apology far more strongly then her words ever could; I, spontaneously, without a thought, turned and wrapped Jane in a strong, reassuring embrace. Feeling Jane tense noticeably my reaction was to lessen the intensity of the embrace – stupid acting without thinking, then, just as I was about to release my hold, Jane relaxed, Gently placed her hands on the small of my back and melted into our now mutual embrace.  
After a long moment I pulled back slightly, placed my hands firmly on Jane's shoulders and looking her purposefully in the eyes: “Jane, apology not necessary, we're good...okay?”

Jane smiled, then with a sniff and a slight quaver in her voice responded: “I am now...thank you, Amiga. I'm so glad I took the chance and invited you to sit with me, like I said earlier, I really need a friend.” 

“Me too, Jane.” The sound of a bit of the vigorously boiling water spilling over the top of the pot and hissing on the hot range top like an angry snake, forced me to step back, turn and return my attention to our nearly ready meal.

“hope you're hungry, dinner's almost ready.” 

“Oh yeah, I'm starving! Do I have time to shower?”

“Well, it'll take ten minutes from the time I drop the noodles into the water til dinners plated and on the table. How much time will you need?”

“Ten minutes is perfect, drop the noodles. I'm outta here.” With that said, Jane was gone. From how quickly the sound of her foot falls retreated, I imagined she'd be at the table before dinner was served.

Amazing! Jane had said she was starving, but watching her attack her meal was – indeed – a sight to behold. She had already eaten more than Trent and I combined and was going back for more; How could she be so thin and eat like that...it was, simply, amazing. It was also a clear sign that the confident, reassured Jane was back, all the unpleasant moments forgotten, we were on the same wavelength again; how that thought brought me comfort.

With dinner finished, Trent, dutifully, cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher and started on the few remaining pots; Jane, meanwhile, went to retrieve her homework. I was actually looking forward to the task at hand; History was one of my strongest subjects in school...not to mention my favorite. Then a thought occurred to me, a simple, inspiring thought, a thought that instantly brought a beaming smile to my face: Jane and I – quite possibly – come Monday, would be going to school together. 

As we began Jane's homework, it became obvious that while History captivated me; it, simply, tormented Jane. Studying the Kansas-Nebraska Act was not, strictly, homework, but rather cramming for a test to be taken tomorrow.

“Jane, what notes have you taken for the test? Do you have any idea what kind of questions your Teacher might ask?”

“Well, my notes have something about “popular Sovereignty, trans-continental railroad, bleeding Kansas and Republican Party” but, honestly, I have no idea what they mean.”

“Okay, the first two were goals of the Act, the last two were results of the Act. Basically...”

Thirty minutes later, Jane was nodding her head, the look on her face showed she was now comfortable with the material.

“Okay, Jane, explain to me, in your own words, the basics of the Kansas-Nebraska Act and their impact on the country?” 

“Oh, goody, a pop Quiz.” Jane joked sarcastically “Let's see, “Popular Sovereignty” meant each new territory would vote whether they would enter the Union as a free or as a slave state. Since the Kansas territory had been decreed a free territory in the Missouri Compromise, folks in the northern states were pissed and formed a new political party. This new Party, the Republicans, main goal was the total end to slavery; this, in turn, pissed off the southern states. As a result, both sides sent settlers in droves to the Kansas territory, in order to win the free or slave vote. Since neither group could stand the other, the territory quickly devolved into a preview of the civil war referred to as “bloody Kansas”. Then in 1860, the settlers voted Kansas would be a free state and the Republicans won the Election for President. Now, with the Southerner’s realization that “Popular Sovereignty” had been a big miscalculation on their part, they threatened to succeed from the Union if Abraham Lincoln – the Republican – became President. That done all that was left was to hop on the roller coaster ride ending at Fort Sumter.”

“Good! Unique use of words, but you've got the concepts down. Is there any other homework we can work on?”

Jane smirked at me “Thanks, but that's everything. From the smile on your face, you are really enjoying this...planning on becoming a teacher?”

“No. I just can't help but feel happy, do you realize that me might – quite possibly – be going to school together come Monday?”

“No, I hadn't. But now that you mention it, you're right, it will be great...you, me and Quinn.” 

At the mention of Quinn's name my smile lost its intensity; this didn't get past Jane and she gave me a quizzical look. “Jane, I know you said that you and Quinn where not friends, particularly, but, please, help me out here, all I know about Quinn is her name and what she looks like, tell me something about her?” 

“Daria, she's your Sister, you've got to know her better than me.”

“The last time we were together, Quinn was a spoiled, self-centered, attention craving, totally normal five year old; I was not quite seven and her polar opposite. My memories are limited and fleeting at best. Jane, you must talk some with Quinn, you told me you share three classes. Trust me, anything you can share would be new to me.”

“Spanish II and Gym don't give us much of an opportunity to talk, but occasionally we speak in Art. I can tell you this, Quinn doesn't make friends easily. As a matter of fact I can only think of one...Stacey Rowe, and that is unusual. Stacey – for years – was a human door mat, a hanger-on of local Fashionista, Sandi Griffin. Stacey was meek and spineless, wouldn't say poop if her mouth was full of it...the perfect little sycophant; then along comes Quinn, who somehow – in a matter of weeks – constructs and installs a backbone into Stacey. A couple of weeks ago Stacey just stopped hanging out with Sandi, since then she and Quinn have been close. Oh, Quinn also likes to design and sew clothing, from some of the clothes I've seen her wear, she's quite good. Also, from the little we speak, she's really intelligent; possibly straight-A smart.” 

“That's not the Quinn I remember, but I like what you've told me. It's funny how having grown up separately, we seem so similar. Thanks Jane.”

“No problemo, mi Amiga.”

“Hey, do me a favor, write down your class schedule for me. That way, if everything goes as hoped, I can try and be placed in classes with you.”

“Yeah, sounds great.” Jane had been looking at me the entire conversation, but now here gaze became more probing, like something was different and she wasn't sure what. “Ah, that's it. Your hair, you had it done in a braid earlier. Don't get me wrong, you've got nice hair, I just think the braid compliments your face better.”

“I prefer it that way as well, just wasn't enough time to braid it after my shower. I think I'll wear it down until after I shower tomorrow. That way the braid will be fresh and tight.”

“Being the youngest Sister meant that I had to do a lot of grunt work for my older sisters. They both kept their hair long in high School and wore it in braids. They'd bribe me to braid their hair by letting me use their make-up or give me lipstick. Three or five strand, French or Dutch Braids, I can still do it in my sleep. Tell you what, I think a five strand Dutch braid would really fit you; let me braid your hair tomorrow, after I get home from school, then you can head off to meet the Family.”

“Thanks, Jane, but I've decided to, first, go meet my Mom at her work, after lunch, then the rest of the Family. Mom's the tough one, best her first. She works at a law firm downtown, “Vitale, Davis, Horowitz, Riordan, Schrecter, Schrecter, and Schrecter ”.”

“Not a problem, I'll just do the two fingered, tonsil tango before lunch, Since it'll be Friday fifth period, the Nurse will just send me home. I'll be missing Spanish, Gym and Art, but they're my best classes; so skipping them won't be a problem. Also, coincidentally, they're the classes I share with Quinn, probably better that I'm not there; don't think I'd be able to look her in the face, knowing you're here at my place. Than I braid your hair and we'll go to your Mom's work; I'll be there to offer moral support...well, at least some kind of support.” Sensing my unease, Jane continued: “Plus, I know how to get to your Mom's work, Look, I'm your friend and I'm concerned for you, there's no reason for you to be alone and vulnerable...come on, I want to help.”

Knowing anything other than assent would be lying, I truly wanted Jane's company and strength, searching for guidance Proverbs 17:17 came to mind; it was an easy decision.

“Jane, Proverbs 17:17 teaches us “A friend loveth at all times; And a brother is born for adversity.”, I couldn't pray for anything more than to have you by my side tomorrow. I can't promise tomorrow will be pleasant or go smoothly, but I can tell you I'm grateful...thank you.” 

“My pleasure, now if you don't mind it's almost eleven and if I don't get at least eight hours sleep I get, really, grumpy. So, g'night Morgandorffer.”

“G'night, Lane, see you in the morning” with that we made our way upstairs.

Having set the alarm for 6:30am, by seven, when the sound of Jane's sock clad feet could be heard, slowly padding on the floor upstairs, the aroma of fresh coffee, turkey bacon, fried eggs and blueberry pancakes were already sufficient to guide her downstairs. Knowing Jane was not expecting breakfast and still had to complete her morning ablutions, daily hygiene and to dress, our conversations were basically monosyllabic and confined to pleasantries; nonetheless, Jane still barely had time to shout goodbye to me as she tore down the stairs and flew out the door for school.

Having retrieved the remaining clothes from the basement, folded them and placed Jane's on her bed, I was now staring down at my meager selection of clothing trying to choose what ones to wear for today's reunion. The blue denim skirt seemed a bit casual and the khaki slacks were definitely so, that left my black, pleated, just below the knee length, wool skirt; it'd need ironing but I had the time, so Black wool skirt...check. Likewise, my button front shirts were more casual than dressy, so that left my rust colored tunic top...check two. Now that left my emerald green sweater or the forest green loden jacket to complete the ensemble. The sweater is nice but not dressy, the loden jacket, however, not only is it classic, it goes nicely with the skirt. So green loden jacket...check three, done. Hanging the tunic and jacket in the closet I considered just how badly my skirt was in need of ironing. 

Remembering seeing the ironing board yesterday in the basement, I headed there to retrieve it and the iron. Fortunately, it was only nine in the morning because the ironing had, obviously, not been put to use for many years as the thick coating of dirt and grime attested. After removing the cloth cover from the ironing board frame, taking it outside to shake the dust free and then back to the basement to hand wash it: wearing Jane's sweats again this morning proved a good choice. As the cover spun in the dryer, I wiped It's frame and accompanying iron clean. Thirty minutes later, with the cover dry and reattached to the frame, the original task of pressing the pleats of my skirt could finally begin. 

After a blessedly long soaking shower, towel drying and combing out my hair, I returned to my room to get dressed. Wearing my chosen outfit, sans loden jacket, I was just tying my shoes when the sound of the front door closing heralded Jane's return home. Before I could stand Jane had entered the bedroom and was reaching for the chair by the writing desk. 

“Good, stay seated where you are, just swing your legs around so your back is facing me and will get your hair braided...sound good?”

“Jane, are you sure you, really, want to go to all the trouble of braiding my hair?”

“Are you kidding, I'm looking forward to it; you've left your hair damp, which is good, makes it easier to keep the strands separate. Though yours may still be a bit too damp...let's give it a feel and see.”

Jane took a sizable sheaf of my hair gently in her left hand, carefully, appraising it's body and the amount of residual moisture left from towel drying. “Beautiful shade of auburn, thick and full of body, your hair will be fun to braid; however, it's still a little too wet.” With that said, Jane let loose of my hair, walked out of the room returning a moment later with a hair dryer, plugged it into a nearby outlet and proceeded to dry my hair. “Hope you don't mind, but if I braided your hair that wet it might have not dried and then it'd smell funny...know what I mean?” I nodded my understanding and a few minutes later, drying complete, Jane, having portioned out smaller sheaves of hair, commenced braiding. As the braiding began I could feel that the braid was taut, but without any tension on my scalp; Jane wasn't kidding when she had said she could braid hair in her sleep. Noticing that it was only 11:45am I asked why Jane was home so early.

“Well, Daria, remember the practice question you asked me last night? Turns out that the history test was an essay test with only one question and it was exactly the same as what you'd asked...couldn't believe my luck. I just wrote down what I'd said last night and handed the test in. Then, since I was free to go to study hall or early to lunch, I – skipped the tonsil tango – headed straight to the nurse and told her my stomach was crampy and I was getting nauseous. Must have put on a convincing act, the nurse just wrote me a note to take to the office and told me to go home and rest. Now, just stay still while I secure the end of your braid...there, all done.”

Jane motioned at the mirror across the room, so I stood, walked over and examined her handiwork. The braid was tight and even, far better than anything I could do, Jane was right the braid did compliment my face...an impressive accomplishment. 

“Now, a quick trip to, my other Sister, Summer's old room for some braid adornments and we'll be set to go.” 

“Jane, what do you mean, the braid is gorgeous.”

“Just a clip for the top and a cap to cover the rubber band at the end, trust me, you'll love the effect.”

With that said, Jane headed out of the room with me in tow. A few minutes later, we were back in front of the mirror. Jane was standing just behind me holding a round mirror throwing the reflection of my now adorned braid into the larger wall mirror. Again, Jane was correct; the addition of a clip – where the braid met my head – with a highly filigreed, pewter toned, multicolored-glass bejeweled butterfly and a matching filigreed cap at the tip of my braid had an, indeed, pronounced effect. 

“I see it on your face, you like the look.“ All I could do was smile back at her through the mirror. “Good, consider them yours.”

“Jane, no, they belong to your Sister. I can't accept them.”

“Daria, hear me out, Summer moved out years ago, when my Mom asked her about her left-behinds she said to throw them out. Now, if I have her permission to throw them away, then I'm sure I have the right to give them away. So, please, take them...they look amazing on you.”

Slightly ashamed at having questioned Jane's gift: “Sorry, you're right of course, I do like them...thank you. Can you give me a minute to finish getting ready?”

“Sure, I'll be downstairs...and your welcome.” With that, Jane turned, set the mirror on a nearby table and headed downstairs.

Having donned my jacket and smoothed out my skirt, I stopped and offered a silent prayer. 'Dear Lord, thank you for your generous and unexpected blessings, you, indeed, do work in mysterious ways. Please, if it be your will, give my Mother the strength to forgive and to accept me. Amen.' My prayer offered, I met Jane downstairs and, together, headed out.

Like our walk the day before, the conversation was light and in a far shorter amount of time then I had anticipated we were at our destination. Jane stopped and pointed to a large glass and stucco cube of a building: “here we are; your Mom's work.” I stood in front of the double glass doors, breathing heavily, with the unmistakable feeling that my feet had taken root in the sidewalk; I was scared. My reverie was broken by Jane taking my right hand and giving it a firm squeeze.

“Daria, look, I'm sure your nervous, just remember Philippians 4:13.”

Stunned by how easily I'd forgotten that simple truth, my strength returned, I released Jane's hold and opened the left front door. Jane then opened the remaining front door and together we entered the building. In the center of the lobby I spotted the reception desk and indicated for Jane to follow.

“Excuse me, could you, please, direct me to Helen Morgandorffer's office?”

After a moment the Receptionist replied: “Take the elevators to the third floor, turn left, and at the first hallway left again. There, down about fifty feet, on the right, you'll find her assistant, Marianne. She'll be able to help you. Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you and God bless.”

The Receptionist looked at me a bit curiously, then said “You're welcome”. At that we went to the elevators and Jane pressed the button for the third floor. Entering the elevator Jane suddenly stated: “Oh, Ca-Ca, I forgot to wake Trent.” As the Elevator began it's ascent, turning so I faced Jane, I asked: “You don't normally use words like “Ca-Ca”, do you?”

“No not normally” said Jane self-consciously.

“Lane, let's make a deal, If you can refrain from taking the Lord's name in vain, and limit your use of expletives referring to fornication, then I think I can accept your way of speaking without further censor. How's that sound?”

“Hot damn! Sounds great.” I couldn't help but chuckle to myself after seeing the mischievous smile playing on Jane's face. Exiting the Elevator and following the Receptionist's directions we were soon standing at a desk facing a thin, middle-aged, blonde woman. 

“I'd like to speak with Helen Morgandorffer, please.”

“Do you have an appointment, Mrs. Morgandorffer is quite busy.” was Marianne's harried reply.

“No, I Don't, Please let her know her Daughter's here to see her.”

“Look, I don't know who you are, but Mrs. Morgandorffer's Daughter Quinn comes here regularly and you are not Quinn.”

“On that point, we are, definitely, in agreement. Marianne, let me rephrase: please, tell my Mother that her older Daughter is here to see her.”

My reply left Marianne flummoxed. She looked me for a moment then quietly stood and went into – what I presumed – was my mother's office. As Marianne left, Jane and I took seats along the wall opposite her desk and waited. After, maybe, five minutes Marianne exited the office and, holding the door open, stated coldly: “Mrs. Morgandorffer will see you now.”

 

To be continued...


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer, _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

Chapter 7:

With a reassuring glance from Jane, I stood and, passing by Marianne – her accusing eyes confirming my familial claims were not to be believed – silently, entered my Mother's office. As Marianne closed the office door, I scanned the interior of the office; there looking out of a window, back to me, dressed in a matching red skirt and jacket power ensemble, her silhouette and auburn hair unmistakable, stood my Mother. The moments passed with a cruel anticipation, punctuated by the staccato ticks of the office wall clock; presently, my Mother – not moving, as if my presence was not worthy of her gaze – in a tired voice, draped in incredulity addressed me.

“Whom ever you are I want you to know, that I have neither the time nor patience to play your little game. If you leave now you and your partner may go unchallenged; however, if you stay and continue this farce, after I've exposed you as a fraud, the two of you will be detained by Security until the Police arrive to arrest you. The choice is yours; I'll give you exactly five seconds to decide.” 

True to her word, after five ticks of the clock, she continued: “Fine, after the pain and suffering little miscreants, such as yourself, have caused me, my Husband and Daughter, I will take especial pleasure in seeing you prosecuted and convicted for fraud. Now, this will go quickly, since you'll be asked only one question. What special item did my Daughter take with her on the night she ran away?”

I had feared the question would be terribly difficult, a memory from my childhood, perhaps, precious to my Mother but fleeting and insignificant to me; however, the question was so patently easy I couldn't resist adding a touch of sarcasm – and with it the sharp edge of veracity – to the answer. “Since the Ho-Hos were stale, they couldn't be called special; so, you must mean my Sixth Birthday Present from Aunt Amy, Black Beauty...it was my favorite book, I still have it.”

For several moments my Mother stood still as a statue, incapable of grasping – what was to her mind – the unbelievable. Then slowly, first her head, then her shoulders she turned and stared at me. In that stare was hope and terror in equal measure; terror was quickly displaced by recognition, hope became certainty. I was not a fraud.

“Could this be possible?” Taking a step towards me as she spoke, “After all these years?” another step, “My little Girl?” another step, “Alive and well?” a final step taken, the space remaining between us reduced to an arms length; Joyously, finally able to say the word, my Mother, gathering me up in a furious hug, cried out: “Daria!”

We stood together for minutes, my mother crying onto my shoulder and me crying into hers. As our tears subsided, we slowly separated, I had reached my fingers under my glasses and was in the process of using them – like wiper blades – to scrape the lingering tears from my eyes and cheeks; meanwhile, my Mother had retrieved a box of tissues and held them towards me with her left hand while using her right to wipe her own tears away. Taking a few from the proffered box, using one to wipe my smudged glasses and the rest to blow my nose, I said “thank you” and steadied myself for the inevitable inquisition to follow. 

“My God, Daria, I had given up all hope of ever seeing you again. Oh, I've...I mean we've missed you so much.” Motioning for me to join her at a round table with four chairs – all in a dark cherry stain – she continued: “Please, sit down and tell me what you've been doing for the last nine years; I don't care how long it takes...tell me everything.”

“Mom, I will gladly tell you everything, but as you've mentioned it'll take time and I'd rather not have to repeat it for Dad and then again for Quinn; Could we wait til later when we're all together?...Please?”

At first I sensed my Mother ready to press the point, to insist that I relent, to answer here and now; instead, slowly her body language quieted and, with a soft exhalation of, too long held, breath:  
“I, suppose that's more practical; just tell me this, were you ever held, or forced to do anything – for that matter, against your will?”

“No, Absolutely not.”

“You're certain?”

“Mom, yes, I'm certain.”

“Okay, Daria, that's good, not reassuring, but good.”

“Mom, what do you mean “not reassuring”?”

“Daria, what you're saying is you ran away and, voluntarily, stayed away from your family for nine years...why, Daria...why?” The hurt, both in her voice and in her eyes, hit me hard; I was prepared for this question, but that didn't lessen the feeling of shame welled up inside me.

“Mom, you and Dad were fighting terribly...all about me; then Dad stormed out of the house and drove away. I thought that I was tearing our family apart...I couldn't change who I was, I believed you would be happier as a family with me gone, So I left.” 

Daria, Sweetie, we searched non-stop all this time; we were anything but happy without you.”

“Mom, I left – because I was – a misguided, overly self-reliant six year old; now I sit before you a humbled, ashamed, contrite fifteen year old. If you'll have me, I promise to, with all my being, however possible, fix the pain I've caused.”

“Have you, oh, Daria, we plan to never let you go again.”

“So, does that mean I won't be allowed outside unescorted til I turn eighteen? Not that I don't deserve that, mind you; I'm just curious.”

“Goodness no, Daria. We failed you all those years ago...don't look at me like that, I can see it on your face, you were six years old; you have no reason to be ashamed, we failed you.”

At those words I became very self-conscious and unable to keep eye contact with my Mother; as much as she wished to absolve me, I knew that I still bore most of the blame. So looking at my mother while avoiding eye contact, I was drawn to the distinct cut and hand tailoring of her clothing; if my hunch was right, Jane had not misled me by saying Quinn was good at clothing design. 

“I see Quinn did quite a nice job on your outfit...It's compliments you nicely.” 

“Daria, how could you possibly have known that.”

“Oh, a little birdy told me.”

“Would that “little birdy” happen to be the young Lady sitting in my reception area? Marianne, said two girls were outside waiting...Oh, and don't think I missed your little misdirection – changing our conversation that way – you've got the makings of a good lawyer.”

Trying not to blush, both from the compliment and from my ruse being so easily discovered; I swallowed and proceeded. “Yes, her name is Jane Lane, she goes to Lawndale High with Quinn, I met her yesterday afternoon.” 

“Wait, yesterday afternoon? Why did you wait until today to come to see me?”

Sensing the onslaught of full lawyer mode, I placed my hands up in front of me, palms facing my Mom and made small whoa motions. Then after a moment posed a question to her.

“Simple, Mom, where were you last night? I believe all of you were at some banquet til late in the evening...right?”

“I can see Jane has been a regular font of information. I knew Quinn wasn't thrilled having to go, but what did she do? broadcast it all over school.”

“No, just to her friend Stacey at Pizza Prince. Jane was in the next booth and happened to hear you would be out last night. We met a few minutes later and after talking a while, one thing led to another, the facts just fell together. So, Jane, graciously offered me a place to stay; we've become instant friends. Something I wouldn't have thought possible – in a million years – and a blessing I can never be thankful enough for having received.”

“Well, then I'll have to find a way to properly thank Jane; First, however, we need to start the process.”

“Uhh, what process might that be?”

“Daria, you've been listed as a missing child with national bureaus, as well as the FBI and local law enforcement agencies; they all need to be notified of your discovery. That will lead to the Media being informed as your status changes from missing to recovered. Hopefully, we can prevent some of the more egregious invasions to our privacy; but understand this, after nine years, news of your recovery will make you an instant celebrity.”

Stunned I bowed my head and prayed that what my Mom described could be prevented. “Dear father in heaven, please, spare my family the abuse my foolishness will unleash. If it be your will that I suffer for my deeds than so be it; however I beg that those I love and care about not be included. This I pray, humbly, in your Son's name. Amen.” My prayer offered and resigned to what must come, I raised my head and, noticing the nonplussed look on my Mom's face, felt – strangely – amused.

“Sweetie” My Mom stopped, obviously, weighing her words carefully “do you pray often?”

“Only when I feel the need for guidance or to express my gratitude; usually four of five times a day. Why do you ask?”

“Well, nothing really, it's just a surprise...that's all. Most girls your age, from my experience, are not very religious.”

“I'm thankful for my faith, but my personal belief, while important, is not the issue; what do we need to do now, who do we call?”

“Daria, for now just three missing child bureaus and the FBI, unfortunately, they will probably want to speak with you. Also I need to call the families and tell them the good news. Speaking of family, I need to tell your Father, but I should probably do that in person.”

“Okay, Mom, let's do it then. The sooner the better.”

“Well, Sweetie, don't take this wrong, It's not you fault, but your Father took your running away – particularly – hard; he blames himself, still, for you leaving...he's coping, but just barely. Sometimes...Oh well, you'll find out soon enough.”

“Mom, I don't know how to not take it wrong!” I could feel tears again starting to form “I thought my staying was destroying the family, but – as it turns out – it was my running away that did it.” Tears were now flowing freely down my cheeks.

“Daria, I'm sorry, It's not as serious as that; I'm flustered and let some of my frustrations slip out. Our Marriage isn't perfect, but seriously it's nowhere near that bad.”

“Mom, I need you to be honest with me, how are things, really?”

“Just as I told you, difficult at times, your Father drinks a bit more than casually and gets moody, but our relationship is nowhere near falling apart, trust me, Daria, I love your Father.”

Feeling the tears abating I took a tissue from the box and wiped my face dry. “Okay, but now I want to see Dad more than ever. Can we go see him and then make the calls? Please?”

“Yes, Sweetie, sure, let's take Jane home then go to his office. I'm sorry I scared you like that...okay?” 

With that said, my Mom stood and led the way out, after a few moments spent introducing Jane to my Mom and vice versa and for my Mom to clear her schedule, the three of us boarded my Mom's red SUV, with Jane in the front seat to give directions, and headed off. Sitting on three foot tall wheels, stepping up into the comfortable, spacious, leather upholstered, wood grain detailed interior of the vehicle felt like one was boarding something more than a mere automobile: Jane was, obviously, quite impressed and couldn't help but to liberally offer compliments to my Mom between the “turn right here, turn left there” of the directions to her house. Upon arriving at, what Jane referred to as, “Casa Lane” Jane thanked my Mom – again – for the ride, said her goodbyes, and as we both stepped down from the SUV, took my right hand, gave it a squeeze and with a supportive glance released it, turned and left.  
Stepping up into the front passenger seat I noticed, that Mom was studying the run down exterior of the Lane residence with a concerned look on her face. Once seated and buckled in, waiting until Jane had entered her house, Mom put the SUV in gear and drove away. 

“Mom, I saw the look on your face, what's the issue?”

“It's just unsettling when people allow their property to fall into disrepair. Jane seems to be a nice enough person, but what examples about life is she getting from her parents?”

“Well, Mom, actually I wasn't planning to speak to you about that, just yet; however, since we're on the subject let me tell you what I know. Jane and her Brother, Trent – whose around twenty, have been, for all intents and purposes, abandoned by their parents. They've skimped and scraped just to keep the bill collectors at bay; they often don't have any money left for food. Mom, the Lord teaches us to be slow to anger, but what I witnessed yesterday has me incensed. Jane's responsible and resourceful, smart and talented; she's nothing like the impression you've formed. I'm scared, that one day, soon, Jane will come home to find a foreclosure notice tacked to the front door. I know I've only just met her, but thoughts of her so desperate and vulnerable are, simply, unbearable.”

We drove on in silence for several minutes then: “I won't promise anything, but after we get ourselves settled, I'll see what resources might be available to assist Jane. Neglect is a serious issue, so be aware, if Municipal or state agencies are notified her parents will be in real trouble; however, since Trent is over eighteen, and an adult, there's little chance that Jane would be removed from her home. Maybe all that needs to be done is sit Trent down and set up a budget; what sort of work does Trent do?”

“Jane says he's in a band that plays at clubs in the area.”

“He'll, probably, have to find more regular employment. At least that's something he should be considering.” The conversation stopped as Mom turned off the road and parked in front of a rectangular, two story professional building. We didn't speak again until we were standing in front of a light colored wooden door; the words “Morgendorffer Consulting” were detailed at eye level on a glass panel to the right of the door.

“Daria, once were inside, please, take a seat in the reception area and I'll go in to speak with your Father. Once I've told him the good news, I'm certain he'll take the rest of the day off and we'll go home and wait for Quinn.”

Nodding my assent, Mom opened the door and entered the office with me a step behind. As instructed I took a seat and Mom headed into Dads office. Hopefully, Mom wasn't planning on having a private discussion with Dad; because – due to the hollow wall construction, and the apparent absence of any type of insulation – every sound from within Dad's office could easily be heard. 

“Helen, is everything alright?”

“Of course everything's alright, Jake. Why would you ask that?”

“Well, you never come to visit; I just assumed...It's not Quinn, is it?...Please, tell me nothing's happened to Quinn.”

I remembered Dad being excitable, but never so disconcertingly so. 

“Jake!...Quinn is just fine, now calm down; I came over to tell you some wonderful news.”

“Wonderful, really?...Okay, I'm all ears.”

“I spoke with Daria.”

“What!!! with Daria!!! When! How! Is she alright? Please, tell me she's not in jail, or rehab....Oh God, Helen! Tell me she didn't joined a cult!” 

“Jake! I said calm down! Daria's fine. No jail, no rehab and, definitely, no cult.”

“Is she coming home? Do you think she'll be able to forgive me for chasing her away?”

“Yes, Jake, she's coming home. She never blamed you, in the least, for what happened.”

“Helen, are you sure? Why else would she have run away?”

“Jake, why don't you ask her for yourself...she's sitting in the outer office.”

From how violently my Dad threw open the office door it was a miracle, that it stayed on it's hinges. I'd barely finished standing when he took me into a hug so crushing I, literally, had trouble breathing. 

“Dad...please...can't....breathe” Thankfully, he released me and, as I steadied my breathing, looked me over babbling incoherently with a huge manic smile and eyes filled with child-like astonishment. It took a couple of minutes for Dad to calm down, but as Mom had said, he closed up the office.  
Once outside Mom suggested I drive home with Dad; which delighted him immensely. As we drove, I remembered my back pack was still at Jane's and asked if we could stop. That request led to my explaining how Jane and I had met and our growing friendship, then about making dinner the previous night; Dad shared how he, also, enjoyed cooking. Then he asked if we could cook dinner tonight for Mom and Quinn, since I was already planning to cook the answer was simple...we stopped at the nearest market.  
Inside the market it, quickly, became apparent that Dad had – to put it mildly – exotic and eclectic notions about cooking...seriously, chicken and plantains in a peanut butter and wasabi stir fry. To my great relief, Dad relented when I offered to make a stuffed pork roast for the whole family as a gesture of my gratitude. Shopping complete, we stopped at “Casa Lane” where I retrieved my back pack and got Jane's telephone number with the promise to call her later that night. Finally, we pulled into the driveway of my new home; the large red brick facade was strange and comforting at the same time, a new life before me. Spontaneously I smiled, somehow, things just felt right, this is where I belong. 

 

To be continued...


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer, _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

Chapter 8:

Standing, silently, in the center of the barren room, lost in the fog of intense thought, Mom's arrival at my side went unnoticed: until her hand gently resting upon my shoulder shocked me back to the here and now.

“Sweetie, I know the guest room is rather small, but until we can redecorate in here, there is really no other place for you to stay.”

“Mom, at first, this room disturbed me; but now as I take time to appreciate it's practicalities, what can I say, it's growing on me.”

“Daria, you can't be serious? The walls are padded in gray canvas, the windows have the sawed off remains of bars still protruding from the frames, the floor's not carpeted: what pride could anyone take in living in such a room?”

“”When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom.” This room has lessons to teach; humility, patience, strength through adversity. I don't wish to cause problems; but if you're only planning to redecorate to please me, save your money...I'm content with it as is.”

“Let me talk with your Father, I'm still not in agreement, but, if you're certain, it would speed up settling you in. I just wish we could do something; as it is, Daria, the room is just ghastly.”

“Ghastly? Mom, to you, maybe, but to me the room's inspiring. Well, speaking of inspiring, I feel a pork roast inspiring me to start dinner; but first, I need to change.”

“Daria, I'll meet you in the kitchen a little later, I was thinking of making those phone calls while you prepare dinner; but I think I'll shower and change first...sound okay?”

“I'd like that, Mom, see you downstairs.” Then after a moment to ratchet up my resolve. “Uhmm, Mom, speaking of calls, after dinner I'll need to make a call as well.”

“Okay, Sweetie, feel free to make any calls you want.”

“Well, to be honest it's not as much 'want' as 'need' to make this call...I'm, really, not looking forward to it; but, It's the right thing to do.” 

“I see, It's to the couple you were living with...isn't it?”

“Yes.” Mom was giving me a steady, but not accusing, look. “They deserve to hear that I'm safe. They also deserve the truth.” 

“Daria, I understand. Wait here, I'll be right back.” Turning she went to the master bedroom and returned a moment later with something in her hand. “Here, I figured that you'd want to contact them, use this; I bought it on my way home, it's a prepaid cellphone. I paid cash so it can't be traced.”

“What!?” Totally misunderstanding Mom's intentions “Call them on a secret phone. Why?...so they can't find me?” 

“Goodness, no. Daria, think about the situation, if you call them from our home phone, then any trace of our phone records will lead straight to them. I assume, that you wish to keep them out of the media; correct?” I wasn't still catching where Mom was going with this, but I nodded, yes, that that was true. “So do I, use this phone and, hopefully, they will. Also, it would help if you not use the phone in the house...too easy to triangulate location.”

Now I was totally confused “Why, are you doing this?”

“Daria, I'm a Mother who understands the pain of losing a child, the couple who cared for you, obviously, loved you very much...it shows, clearly. They must be beside themselves with worry. Also, Daria, I'd like – if you're okay with it – to speak with them...I'd like to thank them.”

“Mom, I'm not certain, they even want to speak to me.”

“Daria, trust me on this, yes, they do. Listen, just put the phone in your room and we'll talk more downstairs...okay?”

“Okay...thanks, Mom.” Surprised, by the thought Mom had put into protecting everyone involved, I did as she asked and then headed downstairs.

Ten minutes later – with Mom and Dad still upstairs – I was in the kitchen starting the prep work for dinner; It had taken a moment to locate the cutting board and a decently sharp chef's knife. But that done, I was pleasantly lost in the moment: chopping the Onion, mincing the Garlic, the quick – metronome-like – drumming sound of knife edge against wood filling the room. The presence of activity from the living room escaped me – so lost was I in the task – until a rather startled voice broke my concentration. 

“Quinn, come quick! There's a strange girl in your kitchen.” 

Only now was I aware of the sound of Quinn's feet (having only partially ascended) turn and descend the stairs and proceed through the living room; this was accompanied by her voice.

“Stacey, what do you mean a strange gi...oh! Excuse me! Who are you and what are you doing in our kitchen. Mom and Dad didn't say anything about getting help for around the house; but, if it means no more frozen lasagna, then I guess its alright.”

“Frozen Lasagna? Seems things haven't changed much since highland. Is Mom still buying it in bulk?”

My back was to them, so I couldn't see the reaction to my statement, then – after a pause, the exact duration lost to the vagaries of one's racing mind – a sound similar to of the 'ah' of recognition, but with the 'ah' nearly strangled by the sharp intake of the air that accompanied it, signaled that the, mental, shoe had dropped. Turning to face Quinn and her friend; my Sister, hands clasped together covering her nose and mouth, was visibly trembling, Stacey simply stood there eyes wide in a comical, almost cartoon like, pose. All I could think to say was “Hi, Sis.” 

Seeing Quinn's eyes, and the myriad of battling emotions within, shock, hurt, anger and – in slowly growing measure – relief, compelled me to action; setting the knife on the counter then rounding the breakfast nook separating us, I went to my Sister. Carefully, reassuringly, I placed my hands on Quinn's shoulders and pulled her close “I've missed you, can you forgive me for leaving?”

“Daria, if you swear you'll never leave again, then yes...yes, I can. I've missed you, too.” After saying that Quinn wrapped her arms around me “Do you swear? You'll never leave me alone again. I need to hear you say it.” A slight hitch in Quinn's voice made it clear she was fighting to hold back tears.

“Quinn, I swear to you, I'm here to stay.” That said, bringing my hands from her shoulders to her back, I returned the hug. 

Nervously, Stacey, momentarily forgotten by us, cleared her throat “Quinn, maybe, I should go and give you time with your sister.”

“Stacey, I hate to do it, but you're right. Can we get together sometime tomorrow night or Sunday?”

“If you're able to, that would be great; But, I'll understand if you can't. Just call me one way or the other, okay.” 

Pulling back, Quinn looked me in the eye “I'm going to see Stacey to the door and go change; I'll be right back, okay?”

“yes, I should get back to dinner, go. I'll be here.” 

Shortly afterwords, with Stacey gone and Quinn upstairs, Mom joined me in the kitchen and, as discussed, made her calls. As Mom had suspected, the FBI wanted a statement from me but, to my surprise, since Mom was a lawyer they were willing to accept a faxed statement and would conduct a telephone interview later if necessary. Thankfully, the other few calls were short and soon we were discussing how the evening should proceed.

“Daria, I've been thinking and I feel it would be better if you were to give your Father the 'readers digest' version of your odyssey. Keeping him focused is much easier if the information is short and sweet. Please, understand, your father needs to maintain certain beliefs in order to function. He's overjoyed that you're back and, to him, that's all that matters. Just answer any questions he has and everything will be fine. Okay?”

“Answer his questions, be short and sweet, I think that's doable. Anything else?”

“After that, I'm telling Dad and Quinn we're going out to buy you sleepwear and underwear. It's true and it'll give you a chance to make your phone call. Also, I still would like to speak with them, if you don't mind. Then, Tomorrow, you, Quinn and I will go clothes shopping; Daria, I've seen what little clothing you've got, you'll need a complete wardrobe.”

“Like I said earlier, If they want to speak to us, then I have no problem. As for clothing, I don't think a complete wardrobe is called for.”

“Daria, it's October, you have no winter clothing, no coats, no boots, only one pair of shoes and no school clothes of any kind. Yes, you most certainly are in need of a complete wardrobe. Then on Sunday, I'm going to suggest your Father take us all furniture shopping for your room.”

“Mom! That will cost a fortune.”

“Nothing we can't easily afford. I'll tell you what, if you don't fight me on clothing and furniture, then I won't force you on the room...is it a deal?”

Realizing, I'd just been skillfully outmaneuvered by a trial savvy lawyer, sighing, defeated. “Fine, you win this round.” I then proceeded to double-butterfly the originally round roast into a basically flat rectangular slab.

“Daria, what are you doing with that roast?”

“I'm preparing it for stuffing. Now, I'll rub the meat with minced garlic and than season with olive oil, salt and pepper, then spread the stuffing evenly. After that roll it up and tie it with string.”

“I see apples in the stuffing, what else is in it?”

“Dried apricots, dried figs, finely chopped onion, some breadcrumbs and a little fresh thyme. The garlic, onions, thyme and seasonings balance out the sweetness of the fruits and the breadcrumbs absorb some of the juices and help bind it together.”

“That sounds delicious, you're quite a cook. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, thanks, I don't think so, just keep me company.” 

At that, I returned to preparing the roast for the oven. Quinn joined us and at their prodding I told the events of my years away and they filled me in on their lives; an hour later the story off my chest and dinner ready, Quinn went to call Dad while I sliced the roast and Mom plated the dinners. Dad and Quinn were surprised when I bowed my head and offered a prayer of thanks for our dinner; Mom, was by now used to my expressions of faith and seemed pleased by the prayer. Dad, though surprised, handled it well. Quinn, strangely, was uneasy and noticeably quieter the remainder of dinner. As we finished eating, Mom was explaining her plans for the weekend

“Now after dinner Daria and I are going to get some basics for her. Tomorrow Quinn would you care to join us shopping for a wardrobe for your Sister?”

“Yeah, sure, sounds fine.”

“Then, Jake, Sunday, what do you say we all go out and get furniture for Daria's room?”

“Great idea, Helen, we'll try that Scandinavian place between here and Baltimore. Just remind me tomorrow and I'll go rent a truck for the day from U-Tote.”

“Mom, will you need me on Sunday? I was hoping to do some studying with Stacey for a test on Monday.”

“Well, if you need to study, since we'll be together Tomorrow, I guess it'll be alright.”

“Mom, on Sunday, would you mind if I ask Jane along, her color sense could be helpful.”

“Daria, excuse me, but who is Jane?” Quinn asked a bit pointedly. 

“She's a friend I met here yesterday, She goes to Lawndale High, Says she shares some classes with you. Jane's the person, I told you about, who gave me a place to stay last night”

“Jane Lane?” Now, Quinn sounded incredulous. 

“Yes, Jane Lane. Why do you sound surprised?”

“Jane is antisocial. As far as I know, She doesn't have any friends at all. She's a loner, not well liked and I'm told she's poor.” The tone of Quinn's voice was very unpleasant.

“Well, she has one now – me – and I like her just fine. Remember what's written in proverbs: “Better is a dry morsel, and quietness therewith, Than a house full of feasting with strife.” Oh, and by the way, she has only had positive things to say about you, Quinn.” Something had changed with Quinn, she was now totally uncomfortable and I had no idea why. 

“Fine, whatever, Mom, Dad if it's okay I'm going to my room to get started on my homework.” Quinn was already standing up when she began speaking and out of the kitchen as the last word was spoken.

It wasn't until later, when Mom and I were driving to start our shopping, that I felt sufficient distance from Quinn's remarks to discuss them objectively. Even taking into account the shock my unexpected appearance must have been; Quinn's reticence – mostly it's sudden manifestation, after our comforting reunion – had me concerned.

“Mom, did you sense anything unusual in the way Quinn was acting during dinner?”

“No, not really, why do you ask?”

“well, when she found me in the kitchen, she was – obviously – shocked, but happy to see me; however, by dinner she was quiet and at times almost annoyed with me. It was like something I said to you and her in the kitchen was bothering her...I just can't figure what it was.”

“Daria, maybe, as she heard about your life away from us; Quinn realized, just how little she knows you, maybe, she's a bit overwhelmed and needs a little time...that's all it is, I'm sure.”

“Mom, you're probably right; But, still, I can't shake this nagging feeling that there's more to it. Hopefully, tomorrow will be better.”

“I can tell you this much, Quinn, likes to shop and, really, likes giving advice on clothing and fashion; if you want to make her more at ease, ask her to help you choose some outfits. Then, if you're willing, ask if Quinn wouldn't mind designing something for you...as you mentioned to me earlier, she's quite good at it.”

“Thanks, I'll do that. Anything to smooth my return into the family.”

“Speaking of your return to the family, don't think I haven't remembered, November Sixth is barely two weeks away; any ideas how you'd wish to celebrate your sixteenth Birthday?” 

I had nearly responded 'what do you mean?' when long ago buried memories, reproachful, resentful, rebuking orphans – awoken by Mom's question – clawed their way back through the surface and spilled, accusing, into my consciousness. Have you, actually, forgotten our true birthday? Are you so lost in the lie you've been living; that the lie has become the truth? Do you remember anything at all of who you were?...who we are still? The questions hurled at me by my orphaned past were damning; I shuddered as the waves of guilt and shame crashed upon me. Then with the verisimilitude of the last nine years laid – exposed, for the lie it was – before me, I succumbed: hands together, hiding my shame filled face, touched my knees as I doubled over and wept. So intense was my weeping, I noticed neither Mom pulling off the road, nor being taken into her embrace. As the tears slowly abated, still doubled over and in Mom's comforting embrace, having taken several calming breaths: I struggled to explain the reason for my outburst.

“My Birthday...you're right, of course, but...I was living a lie so completely, that...I...I...forgot. When they asked, I told them March, twenty-third was my Birthday; I was afraid...that, if...I gave my real Birthday it might give away my identity. When March twenty-third came, to my surprise, they remembered and after nine years the lie became real. Mom...look at the hypocrite I've become...quoting the Bible...and all the while lying to everyone including myself...lying so long, I've...forgotten who *I* am.”

“Sweetie, honestly, it's not that bad. Your Birthday is a fact about you, not who you are... you can relearn forgotten facts. This is just one of many steps you'll take readjusting to your new old life. I'm proud of the young Lady you've become” 

“I'm...anything but proud with myself.” This said I sat up again, pulled down the sun visor and looked at myself in the self-lighted mirror. With red puffy eyes and snot dripping from my nose, yes, I was, indeed, a sight to behold; but, the tears had been cathartic and I was – at least – willing to hear what Mom had to say. For the second time today, Mom offered me some tissues; which I gratefully took and proceeded to blow my nose.

“well, Daria, you should be. Yes, you've made mistakes; but we all make mistakes. You've done nothing that can't be made right with some effort; thankfully, I believe you are more than capable of making the effort and more than willing to make everything right. Now, why don't we go home, you must be tired; we can do the shopping tomorrow.”

“No, Mom, shopping was only one of the things to be done. Unfortunately, I'm not composed enough – yet – to make the call, maybe shopping will clear my mind, then, If so, I'll make the call before we head back home. Also, you were correct, I do need sleepwear and stuff to wear around the house. I promise I'll be fine; Please, Mom, I was looking forward to this time alone with you.”

The beaming smile on Mom's face was infectious, and even in my sorry state, I couldn't help the small smile growing on mine. We continued on and, as I had hoped, the shopping improved my mood considerably. Two hours later, and three trips back to the car to drop off bags of slippers, sneakers, sweats, lounge pants, blue jeans (only two pairs, since Mom didn't want my choice of loose fit, casual / work jeans to be all I'd own) and oversized T-shirts, we were now in ladies lingerie. 

“Mom, wait, I'd like to stop and look here for minute.”

“Okay, but your style of panties is a couple of rows further back.”

“Yeah, but Jane lent me a pair of underwear something like, no wait, exactly like those over there” Pointing a row over, I headed away with Mom following.

“Daria, I'm surprised, Boy-shorts?”

“Don't make it sound so scandalous. Yes, the cut is different, but they're very comfortable, especially how they fit across my hips, and they cover at least as much of my rear.”

“I know that, I'm just surprised is all. Well, here, take two assorted color 3 packs...you're a small, right?”

“Yep, as long as they're all cotton, the pastel shades look nice.”

“I couldn't agree more. If they fit as well as the pair you borrowed from Jane, then we'll come back for two more packs. Now onto Bras, Daria, what cup size do you wear?”

“Not sure, I've always just bought cotton sports-bras in small. They're reasonably comfortable and concealing at the same time.”

“Reasonably comfortable? Concealing? Daria, come with me into the dressing room.”

I followed hoping Mom was not about to do what I was thinking; but – sure enough – as soon as we were in a private dressing cubicle, Mom said:

“Now off with your top and bra.”

“What?”

“Come on, Daria, I need to have a reasonable idea as to your cup size so I can bring a few back for you to try on. Come on, there's no need to be embarrassed.”

“I believe, the proper feeling would be “mortified”, what's wrong with the sports-bras?”

“Because, sports-bras are for protecting your breasts from being over jostled during strenuous exercise; they're not designed with either comfort or long-term wear in mind. Also, I don't think that concealing yourself is an effective socialization strategy. If boys stare, then force them to look you in the eye; you're their equal not a play thing...act that way. Now off with them or we'll be here all night.” 

Impressed with her argument, but still uncomfortable, I, reluctantly, complied. 

“Well, looks like, possibly, you'll need a thirty-two-C cup. I'll start with that as well as a B cup in a couple of styles. Just wait here.” 

After Mom returned, and her guess was dead on, I tried on each style in my size. Mom, for the Nth time tonight, was right again; the fitted cup bras were much more comfortable. We ended up buying six – and to my relief – Mom didn't try to talk me into any colors other than beige. Underwear purchased we returned to the car and settled in for our drive home.

“Daria, would you like to make your call now? If so, should I leave and give you privacy?”

“Mom, I'm ready now and I want you to be here. Just, don't be offended when I call her Mom, too...It's going to sound weird, but I won't feel comfortable calling her anything else.”

“Sweetie, I'd be surprised if you called her anything else. Now this afternoon, in the kitchen, you said their names are George and Eileen; is that right? I wouldn't want to get that wrong, if I speak with them.” 

I nodded that Mom had their names correct, then reaching into the cup holder, just left of the passenger seat, I retrieved the cellphone Mom had purchased just for this call. After taking a moment to brace myself for the inevitable, thinking all along Philippians 4:13, I dialed – what had been before today – the only home phone number I'd ever known.

 

To be continued...


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer, _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

Chapter 9:

“Hello, Davidson residence....hello, is anyone there?” I could hear the stress and apprehension in her voice, I swallowed tried to speak and swallowed again, so much had to be said but all I could manage was to croak out a raspy “Mom”

“Cassie! Dear Lord, thank you for answering our prayers. Cassie, where are you?”

“Mom, it's a long story, I'm so sorry for hurting you and Dad. I wrote you a letter, did you get it?”

“Yes, Cassie, we did; honestly, the letter left us with far more questions than answers. Please, just tell me where you are and what you are doing...we're worried sick over you.”

“Mom, before I start, I need you to believe me – no matter how it may seem – I love you both so much and I miss you terribly. I know it was cowardly of me to leave without a word but, Mom, if you had tried to persuade me to stay – even shed a single tear – I wouldn't have had the strength to leave.”

“Cassie, certainly, I believe you and we love you too. Now, tell me what has you so upset, why did you leave us?”

At hearing the inevitable question, my compunction – which, until then, had been resting, a leaden weight, in my gut – intensified to such a degree I felt, briefly, I would be physically ill. Awash with regret, my resolve replaced by timidity, I reconciled myself to the task before me and – remembering Mark Twain: “When in doubt tell the truth. It will confound your enemies and astound your friends.” – spilled my guts. “Mom, I'm so ashamed of myself, everything you think you knew about me was a lie. My name, history, birthday: everything was a lie.” After a few – simply dreadful – moments of silence, where I almost hoped the reply would be the sound of the the phone being hung up in my ear, Mom responded.

“Okay, let's start with your name, if it's not Cassie, then what is your real name?”

“Daria...Daria Morgendorffer.”

“Daria? We went to register you as a missing person, when we told them that you'd been with us for nine years, the State Police suspected it might have been you.”

“The State Police? Please, tell me you're not in any trouble due to me.”

“No, at least not at the moment, They said that they may need to question us later. We're not worried; we've always done what was right in our hearts. Are you looking for your family? 

“Actually, I'm with them now. I'm in Maryland.” My mention of “State Police” had my Mom agitatedly motioning for me to hand her the cell phone.

“Uhmm, Mom, this is awkward but my other Mom would like to speak with you for a moment. She's a Lawyer and seems concerned about the Police involvement...are you okay with that?”

“Of course, I understand. What's her name?”

“Helen.” That said I handed the phone over.

“Hello, Eileen, this is Helen Morgendorffer, first my husband and I want to sincerely thank you for the love and care you and your husband have shown my daughter. Seeing what an intelligent, respectful and responsible young lady she's become; honestly, we couldn't have done a better job. I know the story Daria told you; truthfully, you did what you believed to be best. We don't blame you at all and will do everything – in our power – to protect your dignity and your privacy. That's why I've asked to speak with you; if you would give me contact information for the authorities involved, maybe we can keep your community out of the media onslaught...it's the least we can do.”

“My husband and I have always done what we believed to be right, so we're not worried; however, if our community could be spared unnecessary media attention that would be appreciated. I'll get you a contact name and phone number.”

“Daria, here take the phone while I get a pad and pen. When Eileen gets back on just tell me the name and number, then you two can continue.” With that my Mom handed me the phone. After a few seconds the sound of my other Mom returning could be heard.

“Helen?”

“No, Mom, it's me Daria. Mom wants me to tell her the information and then we can continue talking...if you want to.” 

“Daria, why ever would I not want to speak with you?”

“You must be hurt and terribly disappointed with me, not to mention totally fed up with the trouble I've caused: I wouldn't blame you.”

“I know you've committed 1 Corinthians chapter 13 to memory; “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things: Love never fails.” our love for you is unconditional. Yes, your Dad and I were hurt and a bit disappointed but that doesn't mean we love you any less. Knowing now why you left and hearing your distress over it has tempered that considerably. This past week, Isaiah 41:10 and Romans 5:3-5 have been our constant companions. The Lord has answered our prayers, you're safe and sound, we must be content. Now is your Mother ready for the information...”

As I relayed the name and number to Mom my thoughts were on the scriptures quoted, especially with Isaiah – “fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” they had taught me to pull strength from faith and had now proven it through their actions. After the information had been relayed another thought came to mind.

“Mom, where's Dad I'd like to speak with him too.”

“He is meeting with the Elders, telling them what we learned today from the Police, I don't expect him for a couple of hours. Please, tell me you will call back later to speak with him.”

“Without fail, will tomorrow morning about eight – your time – be alright?”

“Yes, he'll be waiting, I doubt he'll sleep a wink tonight knowing you're going to call. Daria, there's one part of your explanation that still troubles me; why – if you'd known that your family was looking for you – did you decide only now to leave?”

“Mom, I'd only found out they were looking for me on the trip we took to visit Uncle Robert in Montana. Remember I was tired and went to bed early”

“Yes, it was a long trip and I remember you turning in early.”

“Well, there was a television in the guest room and, since we don't have one, I was curious; so I watched for a while and – to my absolute shock – my family was on a show about run-away children. They were telling what they had been through and how much they missed me and wished I'd be found...I was devastated. After that I've been torn between my life with you and the family I'd left; I've cried so much over leaving even though I believe it to be the right decision. Mom, can you and dad, truly, forgive me?”

“Your Dad and I want only the best for you of course we forgive you; the fact that you didn't believe you could confide your troubles with us is disappointing, but nothing more. Daria, in our hearts, you will always be our daughter; you will always be welcome in our lives.”

Up until then I'd been able to keep my emotions mostly in check; now – no matter how hard I fought them – the tears fell anew. After a moment, and quite unexpectedly, laughter intermixed with the tears.

“Well, If you, really, want me in your lives; who am I to question it.” by now a gentle laughter colored my voice – and for the first time in weeks – I was happy. 

“Remember we're forgiven as we forgive. From the laughter in your voice I believe you understand now.” 

“Yes...yes, I do. Like Paul said “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” I'm sorry to have not shared my troubles with you.”

“Paul mentions forgiveness quite a bit in his letters; you quoted Ephesians 4:32 it's one of my favorites. If people were to remember only one verse of scripture that one would be good.”

As we talked my whole being felt lighter as the troubles of the past week dissolved. Unfortunately, as the stress brought on by those troubles, and their corresponding adrenaline, left; it was quickly replaced by an overpowering weariness. Yawning, from my need for sleep, I tried to keep up the conversation; but both Mom's noticed immediately.

“Daria, when did you last have a good nights sleep?” Mom asked over the phone.

“Sweetie, you've been going non-stop for days, you must be exhausted.” said Mom by my side.

Answering them both “It's been a while and yes I'm very tired. If it's okay, Mom, I'll talk to you again tomorrow.”

“Yes, Dear, eight tomorrow morning, Dad and I will be waiting. Now go and get some sleep, I love you.”

“I love you too. Take care, bye.”

“Bye, to you too.”

With that I clicked the end button and let the phone drop to my lap. The next thing I knew, Mom was gently tapping my shoulder and we were now parked in our garage. Groggily, I helped Mom take the bags from the car and, together, we brought them to the guest room. Then, after a quick goodnight, I changed and went to sleep.

Saturday was an uneventful day – busy, tiring, shop-til-you-drop hectic – but in comparison to the preceding week, a blessed relief. Quinn – true to Mom's prediction – was in her element and extremely helpful with clothing suggestions. If the conversation deviated from fashion, however, Quinn was more guarded; and whenever I would ask anything remotely personal Quinn became noticeably uncomfortable. But, since Quinn was, otherwise, talkative and pleasant, I figured this was understandable – due to the circumstances – and accepted it quietly.

Sunday, in contrast, was anything but uneventful. After a quiet morning spent, alone, reading Proverbs and in Prayer followed by a shower and cooking Breakfast I was, finally, joined by the rest of my family around eleven to eat. Then at Noon, as discussed on the phone the day before, Jane arrived to join Mom, Dad and I in our search for bedroom furniture. Since Dad had yet to return with the rental truck, Jane asked to see my bedroom for an idea what colors would work best. As we approached the bedroom door – knowing very well that my bedroom would appeal to Jane's artistic tastes, but wanting to tease her a bit – I paused a moment.

“now, Jane, don't expect too much from the room. The previous owners decorated with utility, not decor, in mind.” With that said, I opened the door and stepped inside. When I sensed that Jane was no longer at my side, I turned and was rewarded with a, truly, Kodak moment; Jane – jaw agape – stood at the doorway awestruck.

“Morgendorffer, you're so lucky, this is – without a doubt – the coolest room I've ever seen! The walls are actually padded...and the bars in the windows...I'm beyond Jealous.”

“So, I take it you think the room has possibilities?”

“Oh, yeah, you could say that, but first we need to take some measurements.” Jane said this, as she stepped towards me, reaching into her right jacket pocket to reveal a small tape measure “Here, take the end and walk over to the far corner.” There, standing with the tape at waist level, I held the tip flush to the corner as Jane jotted down reference points.”First window four feet, width of window thirty inches...” After several minutes, holding the tape at various points in my room, Jane motioned for me to drop my end of the tape. Upon it's release, the tape slithered – like a snake – quickly back to it's home; then after returning it to her pocket, Jane retrieved a sketch book from her back pack and transferred the dimensions of my room to a two dimensional floor plan.

“Okay, plenty of room for furniture, let me jot down window height, door widths and colors of walls and floor; speaking of floor, you're going to need a carpet – room's twelve by sixteen – shouldn't be a problem...maybe in a wine, a plum, or – if we're lucky – a dark mauve...they'd match the gray padding...” 

“Kiddo, if you and Jane are finished, Mom and I are ready to go; it's a forty-five minute drive to the store.” Dad's call from downstairs interrupted Jane's decorating suggestions. 

“We'd best head downstairs, I'd like for us to get at least the bed and a dresser in place today.”

“Fine by me, I'd rather be choosing than suggesting anyway...let's go”

The ride took – due to traffic – every bit of an hour; since I had spent all of Saturday with Mom, it was decided that Jane and I should keep Dad company in the truck while Mom followed in her SUV. Passing the time, Jane used her sketched floor plan to explain how a bed, two dressers – a tall six drawer and a low six drawer, a book case and a work desk would all fit easily into the room. Jane also suggested that I look – mainly – at darker wood tones; otherwise, the muted gray of the padded walls would overpower the furniture. Once at the – what could only be described as massive – furniture store Jane's advice proved invaluable; since the selection of furniture proved to be as massive as the building that housed it. 

“Okay, the directory shows, upstairs and third showroom in for bedroom furnishings.” Stated my Mom as she came walking back to us from said directory.

“That's great, Mrs. Morgendorffer, but we need to see carpets first.”

“But, Jane, carpets and flooring are downstairs on the way to furniture pick-up; doesn't it make better sense to go there last?”

“No, not if you want to be certain the furniture doesn't clash. Look, when you build a house you start from the ground up...right? It's the same designing a room; pick the color of the carpet first and the furniture will – almost – choose themselves.” 

“Wow, Jane-o, you really think so, choosing furniture is always so confusing to me. I remember wanting a white lacquer bedroom set for our first place, but noooo, Helen absolutely refused...never could understand why?” 

“Jake! It was an apartment, the walls were white and the wall-to-wall carpet beige; Jane, help me out here.”

“Well, Mr Morgendorffer, to put it simply the furniture should be in contrast to the walls and carpet; I'll bet you ended up with a dark cherry or walnut for the furniture. Right?”

“Yeah, Jane-o, dark cherry; see, I told you furniture confuses me.”

“Mr. Morgendorffer, I take it that little “-o” you put at the end of my name is a term of endearment; my Brother – Trent – calls me Janey, so I guess Jane-o works...yeah, it works just fine. Daria, you, however will restrict yourself to plain Jane...no adornments, got it.” Jane's smirk was simply wicked.

“Well, I was going to start calling you “Beatrix” but okay, now lead us to carpets, plain Jane.”

Jane smirk barely changed, but with a faux pout in her voice: “Plain? Daria, I'll have you know, I'm anything but plain. Now, let's get some good sturdy hangers for your closet; I'm in a mood for leaving you hanging out somewhere to dry for that remark. We'll tell anyone that asks you're a piece of performance art.” 

“Art? Really Jane-o, Daria said you painted but I didn't know you did other kinds of art too; what were you thinking of doing again?” My word! Could Dad actually be so obtuse? Not missing a beat Jane continued:

“Well, Mr. Morgendorffer, either I'll roll Daria up in a carpet and call it crepe's Morgendorffer or suspend her by hangers as an homage to Peter Pan...can't tell yet how the mood will take me.” With that said Jane took my Dad by the arm and lead him off in the direction indicated for carpets.

I don't know if Jane had planned it, but how she handled my Dad, really, impressed my Mom. As we looked at the twelve by sixteen carpets, I noticed a respectful look in my mom's gaze as Jane scrutinized the displays.

“Here, Daria, what do you think? Dark Mauve will give you at least five shades of wood tone to work with.”

“I like it. You were right, even I can see how this color plays off the gray walls.”

“Good, I'll write down the item number and we can get down to business.”

Back upstairs, just as Jane told my Dad, the furniture seemed to pop out whenever I visualized that color. As Dad and Jane continued their discussion on color coordinating and I decided between three possible bed and dresser combos, Mom – I noticed – was frequently walking off to either answer or make calls on her cell phone. After, at least, the fourth call I quietly moved over to join her.

“Mom, what's going on? You've been on the phone quite a bit...anything wrong?”

“Possibly, seems the press release, instead of tonight as planned, occurred this morning; I've been speaking with the public relations reps from missing children bureau, state law enforcement and my office. We need to prepare for the arrival of media at any time.”

“Why so quickly? The news was only released this morning.”

“Well, Sweetie, according to the firms public relations officer, reporters have already called asking for confirmation that I work for the firm...that means – at least – some reporters know we're in Lawndale.”

“Oh, I see. Should we go home and finish this another day?”

“No, let's finish, but let's not waste any time. I'd like us to be home before the press descends.”

“I've decided on the furniture, we've already selected carpet, bedding and lighting: we should be out of here in less than an hour...okay?”

“I don't mean to rush your choice; you're certain it's what you want?”

“Yes, the furniture is all basically simple and form through function, all I was deciding on was the finish; I'm done, let me show you my choices.”

I took Mom, after collecting Jane and Dad, over to show the selected pieces. As we headed down to the warehouse area to claim the items, Mom filled in Dad, while Jane and I discussed how to best arrange my room. Twenty minutes later, with dad pushing the – unassembled, surprisingly heavy – boxed furniture on a trolley and Jane and I each pushing a cart, we were just leaving the cashier and heading for the rental truck when Mom's cell phone rang. It was Quinn, from the way Mom was attempting to calm her down and the instructions she was giving to Quinn: something was, definitely, wrong. Finishing the call, Mom turned to face us:

“That was Quinn, there are several news vans and reporters park in front of our house. Let's get the truck loaded as quickly as possible and get going.”

Five minutes later we were loaded and on the road home. As we entered Lawndale, this time with Mom in the lead, we stopped first at Jane's house. This – I found out – was for two reasons, to drop off Jane – saving her from the press, and to await a police escort to our house; Apparently, Mom had made several calls on the drive back with one, at least, being to the lawndale Police. Moments later – with two police cars as escort – our little caravan headed out and made it's way towards Glen Oaks Drive. As we turned onto Glen Oaks, there before us was an incredible sight; at least six vans – all painted with network logos and call letters, with tall antennas extended – were parked along both sides of the street in front of our home. Milling around the vans were possibly thirty people, some with cameras others with microphones; they were all there waiting for me...all I could think was: 'the nightmare begins'.

With Police assistance, we were able to get Mom's SUV into the garage and the truck behind it in the driveway. At that point I sat silently in the living room while Mom continued her phone calls from the Kitchen. Dad was in the process of taking Quinn and Stacey – with police escort – to Stacey's parents for the night and had yet to return. This left me alone to contemplate the situation; 'Why?' that was all I could think...'why was I so news worthy?' when Mom had used the phrase “media circus” I had envisioned some annoying phone calls and, possibly, TV interviews but nothing – even remotely – like this. The approaching sounds of Mom's shoes clicking against the kitchen floor meant that the planning was over.

“Okay, Sweetie, I've spoken with a very good public relations specialist from missing children bureau. His name is John Brown and he'll be here in twenty minutes. We'll discuss what questions to expect and then speak with the Press.” When I didn't answer, Mom continued.

“Daria, I know this is unsettling but the sooner we deal with this circus the sooner this will end.”

“This” I said waving my arm, agitatedly, towards the street “this isn't a circus, it's a horde, the barbarians at the gates...no, it's worse, it's sharks circling in the water...and I'm chum. Mom, tell me honestly...were you expecting this to be coming?” 

“Yes, I was. Normally, in these circumstances, remains are identified and the press gathers around – like vultures – when the unfortunate family is notified; our circumstance is much rarer – you came to us alive and healthy – naturally, there would be a more pronounced media presence. You signify hope, a beginning not an end, obviously, that is news people want to hear.”

“I guess-- and this is just my selfishness – but I wanted to start back to school tomorrow and now that's not possible.”

“Daria, of course it is. We're still going forward with registering you for school tomorrow.”

“But how? With the Press and without any transcripts?”

“Simple, the press will not enter the school. Also, I never planned to offer any transcripts; nothing would lead the press to the Davidson's more quickly. You see, Daria, it'd be too easy for a reporter to pay someone ,with access to the files, for the information. Unfortunately, You'll have to test out for each subject but the benefits of holding back your Idaho transcripts is more than worth the inconvenience...don't you agree?”

“Mom, putting aside what Shakespeare has to say, right now, I'm so glad that you're a Lawyer. If not for all your planning, we'd be in an awful mess...wouldn't we?”

Smiling warmly, Mom replied: “probably..oh, and we shall speak no more of Shakespeare, okay?”

Our talk was interrupted by one of the Police officers opening the front door to escort a middle-aged gentleman who introduced himself as John Brown. Shortly thereafter Dad returned and Mr. Brown explained how the conference would be staged and handled. First, Mr. Brown would collect the press on our front lawn, then Mom, Dad and I would be called outside and we would take questions from the press for no more than fifteen minutes at which point the conference would end and the press would be asked to leave. Since there were Police officers present, Mr. Brown didn't believe there would be any issue dispersing the press at the conclusion of the conference. Mr. Brown, also, made it clear that I was not to answer any question unless either he or my Mom motioned for me to do so. We, meaning Dad and I, were not to talk about where I had been, we were not to give long, involved answers and we were – especially – not to comment on any possible legal issues: We were only interested in answering how happy the family was...the positive stuff. That would be, according to Mr. Brown, the filter he and my Mom would be using while fielding questions from the press. That said Mr. Brown went outside and, as we waited, I prayed silently that this would go smoothly and for guidance so that – when questioned – my answers would be satisfactory.

The press Conference did, indeed, go smoothly; this was due mainly to the fact that Mr. Brown was extremely experienced and, maintaining control at all times, skillfully manipulated what questions were accepted. Mom carefully answered any – appropriate – legal questions and, when given the opportunity, I answered – basically – how happy I was to be home. Mr. Brown had stressed, before we stepped outside, how important good posture and a confident smile would be and, sure enough, from the second we stepped outside until we returned back into the house there was not a second that a camera – still or video – was not in our faces. True to his word, at the fifteen minute mark, Mr. Brown said “last question” and ushered us inside the house. 

After Mr. Brown had departed – but not before describing what we should expect over the next couple of weeks and concurring with Mom that starting school tomorrow was the best course of action, “Nothing will drive the press away faster than a family living a normal life” being his exact words – Mom and I were in the kitchen discussing the evening's activities.

“Daria, what do you have planned for the evening? I'm trying to set a time for dinner.”

“Mom, I'd wouldn't mind waiting a couple of hours; that way, with Dad's help, we can get the truck unloaded and the boxes stored in my room. Hopefully, then we could get the bed and one of the dressers assembled today. That way after dinner I could put away my clothing and probably even sleep there tonight.”

“You certainly don't believe in wasting time...you know, there's no need to hurry.”

“Mom, we have no idea what might happen next week. Also, after this afternoon, I'd rather stay busy.”

“Okay, that's understandable. It's five twenty would dinner at seven thirty give you enough time?”

“Yeah – it should – the bed doesn't require much assembly and the dresser might take an hour or so. If Dad and I don't waste any time laying down the carpet we should be ready by then.”

“Good. Oh, and Daria, If you want to assemble the dresser right the first time keep your Father away from the instructions; trust me on this one, your Father has difficulties when it comes to spacial relationships. Otherwise, you might end up with something more resembling modern art than a dresser.”

“Okay, I'll keep that in mind...Uhm, Mom, do you know why Quinn chose to leave and spend the night at Stacey's?”

“I'm not certain, but If I had to venture a guess, I'd say the stress of all the media – and she alone with Stacy to deal with it – was just too much...why, does her having left bother you?”

“Well, this is going to sound selfish, yes – at least a little bit. Today was stressful for me too and a little emotional support from my own Sister would have been, really, helpful. I don't know, Quinn has been uncomfortable around me and – it seemed to me – she was escaping me more than the press today.”

“Daria, possibly, but not for the reasons your thinking. Quinn has been wanting her Sister to return; remember, she was only five when you left and had limited memories of you as a person. So, the abstract desire to find a Sister and the concrete reality of you the person – a flesh and blood reality – returning to us has been difficult for her to reconcile. Quinn's overwhelmed...that's all.”

“You're probably right, Mom, maybe I'm expecting too much too soon. I just can't shake this nagging feeling that there's something more to it. I know that my coming home was sudden and has forced very quick changes in all our lives. Love is patient and I love Quinn unconditionally; so I'll wait til she's ready...there's not much else I can do.”

The only response from Mom – as we left the kitchen to find Dad – was a sympathetic look. An hour later, the carpet in place and my bed assembled with Mattress and box spring, Dad and I were just starting with the dresser and Mom had returned to the kitchen to make dinner. Mom was correct about Dad's issues with spacial relationships; He, definitely, believed furniture assembly to be a trial and error process. As I read the directions and then fastened pieces together, with Dad holding said pieces in position, the dresser frame came slowly together. After the frame was done, and we had begun to assemble the drawers, Dad stopped – gave me a meaningful look – and asked:

“Daria, with everything that's happened, all the changes to your life, I'm curious: are you happy?”

The question was so sudden, unexpected and thought provoking I needed a moment to consider the answer. “Dad, I'm not sure if I've ever been happy...per se, for the last nine years I've been content with my life, but now with the opportunities before me – here in Lawndale – it's a possibility. I know you were hoping for a different answer; but that's the best I can do...sorry.”

“No. That's fine for now. You have a positive outlook for your future here; I take it that Jane is a big part of that, right?”

“Dad...You, Mom and Quinn are the reason I came back; but, yes, Jane plays a not insignificant part in – as you've put it – my positive outlook. Honestly, I've never had such a close friend; actually, I've never really had a friend.”

“Why, Daria, you're smart, responsible, honest...I can't believe you didn't have any friends at all.”

“Dad, let's just say, by the time I got over myself – stopped worrying about how much I knew and realized how little I, actually, knew – I'd alienated all the kids back in Idaho; you already knew how well I got along with the other kids in Highland. Now, only four days in Lawndale and I already have a close friend, I've got every reason to be optimistic.”

As we continued with the drawers, Dad was quiet but the look on his face was calmer and by seven thirty the dresser was complete and we were downstairs checking on dinner. After everything we were famished – so hungry – even the micro-wave lasagna waiting on the table smelled good. By eleven all my clothing was either hanging in my closet or folded in the dresser and I was showered, changed and laying in bed. As I drifted off to sleep thoughts of tomorrow and all it's possibilities floated at the edge of my consciousness. 'Yes, Dad, indeed, I just might learn what it is to be happy...at least it's a possibility.' 

 

To be continued...


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer, _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

Chapter 10:

When the alarm beeped, announcing – Wakey, Wakey it's six – get up, I had already been awake for over an hour; unwilling to get up but unable to return to sleep. No matter how I tried to convince myself otherwise, today would not be 'just another day', Lawndale High – more specifically the student body of Lawndale High – was going to push my social skills to their limits. Adults have always related to me better than my, supposed, peers and – Jane aside – the strange new faces, in disconcertingly larger numbers than I'm accustomed, would have been unsettling – for me – under the best of circumstances: today, with me suffering through Andy Warhol's accursed “fifteen minutes of fame”, would be anything but the best of circumstances. Well, I thought as I silenced the alarm, 'If you stare into the Abyss long enough the Abyss stares back at you' and with that I reluctantly drug myself out of bed. Thirty minutes later, showered, dressed and downstairs the scent of fresh coffee brewing along with the accompanying sounds of activity lured me into the kitchen. 

“Good morning Mom, when should I be ready to leave?” Mom was at the dining table with a cup of coffee; in front of her lay a considerable number of papers fanned across the table. 

“We have a seven-thirty meeting with the Principle, Ms. Li, so be ready by seven fifteen. Did you sleep well last night?”

“No, not really. I was fretting over both School and the reporters. Why so much paperwork?”

“Just double checking all the registration paperwork. It all looks to be in order.”

“All this is just to register me for High School? There must be thirty pieces of paper in front of you.”

“Sweetie, since we're enrolling you late, with less than two weeks notice, and without transcripts there are several extra forms to be submitted. Thankfully, most of the forms only required basic information, a few boxes checked off and a signature.”

“Before packing my lunch, I was going to make myself an omelet; would you and Dad like one too?”

“That would be wonderful, Sweetie, thank you. What kind are you preparing?”

“Mushroom and Swiss. Also, I'm going to peel and section some oranges.”

“Sounds great, just give me five minutes to clear the table off; by then your Father should be down to join us.”

True to her word, by the time the omelets were ready, Dad was downstairs and Mom had the paperwork organized and safely inside her briefcase. While we ate, Mom explained that Dad wasn't going with us but leaving for work early; however, he would be picking Quinn and me up after school. That way both of them would be able to put in full days at their offices. After Breakfast, as Mom cleared and wiped the table and I rinsed the plates and silverware and loaded the dishwasher, Dad gave me a hug and Mom a kiss and headed out for his office. 

At exactly seven fifteen Mom and I got into her SUV and left for Lawndale High. Thankfully, no reporters were visible and the ride was uneventful until we reached the school; there, however, the media was waiting in force but kept back – off School property – by security. Mom parked as close as possible to the front doors of the School and we, ignoring everything going on around us, quickly entered the building. There a security guard met us and escorted us to the main office. Mom had told me earlier in the car that security was quite conspicuous at the school and that the Principal tended to micro-manage every aspect of the facility: Today, at least, that was a welcome relief. 

Ms. Li, herself, as we were introduced, seemed to fit Mom's description perfectly; a middle aged Asian Lady dressed in a business suit with a severe, dictatorial manner. Once seated in her office, Ms. Li – after reviewing my registration paperwork and giving the file to an office clerk – explained that it would be necessary for me to spend each morning Tuesday through Friday taking standardized placement (TAP) tests for each core subject. In the afternoons I would be able to attend three periods of non-core curriculum such as gym, foreign language or an arts class; this would be to assess how well I socialized with others. Today, however, I would spend the day with the school Psychologist, Mrs. Manson, who would be administering a series of psychological, socialization and intelligence tests. Then Friday afternoon we would meet again for grade placement and course selection. With my week laid out for me Ms. Li explained where I would find Mrs. Manson's office and I left her and Mom to finish the registration process. 

The directions were hardly necessary seeing that Mrs. Manson's office was located directly across the hall from the main office and was easily identified by the sign “Mrs. Manson Psychologist” in three inch high letters. Entering the office I was motioned by a tall middle-aged brunette headed women with streaks of gray in her hair, in the midst of a telephone conversation, to take a seat across the desk from her. Whether the gray hair signified the wisdom of age or was just the by-product of a long stressful career I was soon to discover as she ended the call, opened the file in front of her on the desk then adjusted her position to face me squarely.

“So, you must be Dora.” Mrs. Manson said while glancing surreptitiously at the opened file.

“Excuse me, my name is Daria.”

“Oh, I'm sorry Daria, well today we're going to do some testing together to assess certain social, emotional and intellectual indicators; are you comfortable with that Dora?”

“I'd be comfortable, if you'd address me properly: my name is Daria, D-A-R-I-A.” I spelled out my name, hoping to end her confusion.

“Yes, Dar-i-a” Mrs. Manson stressed each syllable of my name in what sounded vaguely like – but I hoped was not – a condescending tone. “Just let me know when your ready and we'll begin.”

“I'm ready as I'll ever be” I said neutrally “let's get started.”

“Good, the first test will help assess your self-esteem. Now, if you wouldn't mind taking this test with you to the table behind us and completing it, Dara.” Mrs. Manson held the test in her hand expecting me to take it; however, I continued to sit, silently, waiting for her to realize her error.

“Please, if you wouldn't mind, Dara, take the test and get started.” I simply remained silent in the chair.

“Young Lady, willful disobedience will not be tolerated.” Mrs. Manson said waving the test in front of me. “Now, take the test and get started.”

“Mrs. Manson, with all due respect, I am acting neither willfully nor disobediently towards you. There, simply, is no reason to continue until you afford me the dignity and respect of addressing me by my proper name; which, by the way, is neither Dora nor Dara but Daria.”

The only response from Mrs. Manson was a reproachful, prolonged, withering stare. Realizing that to look away meant conceding defeat, I continued to sit silently meeting her stare with – what I hoped was – a confident expression on my face and, not defiantly but determinedly, prepared to wait her out. After several moments the previously stern look upon Mrs. Manson's face softened and was then replaced with a pleasant, appreciative smile.

“Good, Daria, you exhibit a healthy level of self-esteem; you stood your ground and, without becoming angry or lashing out, insisted on being treated with dignity and respect. Now we can move on to...”

“Excuse me, do you mean all of this was just a test? Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you but with all the adrenaline my fight or flight reflex released I'm finding it difficult not to.“

“No, I'm sorry. Normally, students don't find this so stressful. Relax, you did just fine.”

“I'm okay, just not used to this sort of testing; is the rest of the day going to be like this?” 

“No. We'll talk for a while – get to know you a bit better – then the rest of the Morning will be spent taking standardized pencil-and-paper tests, then a break for lunch. This Afternoon you'll spend a couple of hours taking a series of intelligence tests.”

“Wow, you mean I have your undivided attention for the whole day? Now I feel, really, special.” 

“Ah, is that bit of sarcastic banter an indication of what lays in store for me today?”

“No, the adrenaline is still wearing off...Sorry.”

“So, I take it the last few days, from what I've read in your file, have been somewhat stressful. Would you like to talk about it?”

“Uhmm, not really, with the exception of the Media I've found the last week hardly stressful at all. Wait, you said you read my file...what file?”

“Just what your Mother gave to Ms. Li this Morning; actually, I've barely had a chance to look at it. Daria, why are you acting so defensively? Are you certain there's nothing you'd like to talk about?”

There was no way I was about to discuss my past with this Woman but she was right about my becoming defensive; so I decided to let her help me with something she should know plenty about...Lawndale High. “Well, I'd be lying if I said today, starting school here I mean, hasn't been a big concern for me.”

“How so?”

“Everything is so new, different and with all the Media attention, have you seen how many reporters are out in front of the School? I'm a private person, normally, and today has been complete attention overload...it's starting to overwhelm me.”

“Honestly, that's completely understandable. You'll be slowly integrated into classes during the week and start a full schedule next week. Any new environment can be stressful, just relax and I'm certain you'll be fine. Also, I'm aware you don't trust me yet – we've only just met; hopefully, over time you will learn to trust, or at least respect, me.”

We spent the next hour talking with Mrs. Manson occasionally writing observations down on a legal pad. I found her pleasant and interesting but was still wary of speaking too much about myself. 

“Daria, your answers have been rather restrained, care to elaborate why?”

“Proverbs says: “He who restrains his words knows knowledge, and one cool of spirit is a man of understanding.” Like I said earlier, normally, I'm a private person.”

“Yes, Daria, but if I recall my Sunday School lessons – and it's been many years – that continues with: “Even a fool who is silent is counted wise, he who shuts his lips is counted as discerning.” You are definitely not a fool and neither am I. Let's try changing topics, do you read the Bible regularly?”

“Every day I can, the Scriptures are comforting to me, they help me to understand who I am and how I need to grow in my Faith.”

“Do you believe that your Faith means inflexibly following the scriptures, as written, without question?”

“No. Absolutely not. My Faith in God, his Son and the Holy Spirit has enriched me not enslaved me. We have all been given agency to make decisions and responsibility for their consequences. Through Faith I've learned to Love, Trust and Forgive unconditionally and to view the Scriptures critically.”

“How do you define viewing the Scriptures critically?”

“If something in the Scriptures seems at odds with Christ's teachings; then one has a duty to check if the translation is accurate. Honestly, there are many times I've needed both my Greek-English dictionary and my copy of Barnes to cross check the translation. The word of God is infallible, translators, however, are very fallible.”

“Daria, I must say I'm impressed with that answer, it's rare enough to find an Adult – let alone a Teenager – with such an enlightened and intellectually rigorous view. Well, that covers just about everything I wanted to discuss with you. Why don't we take a five minute break and then get the emotional / psychological tests out of the way.”

“Sounds good, I could use a bathroom break. Oh, Mrs. Manson, do you think I could possibly go to fifth period lunch?”

“Actually, that's when I planned to send you; most of the Sophomores have lunch that period. Though I'm curious why you'd want to go then.”

“A friend of mine has lunch that period; it'd be nice to spend a little time with her.”

“Really, you've made a friend already? What's her name?”

“Jane Lane.” 

“Jane Lane?” Mrs. Manson's body language changed instantly from open and receptive to rigid and distant. “Frankly, I'm concerned; Daria, how did you become 'friends' with Ms. Lane?” The tone of incredulity Mrs. Manson used, when she said the word 'friends', made it clear she did not believe the word belonged in the sentence. 

“Jane was the very first person I met here in Lawndale. When it became clear I had no place to spend the night, she invited me to stay at her home. We've become good 'friends' quite quickly. Now, I've got a question for you: What about Jane has you concerned?” 

“Daria, Ms. Lane, while not a discipline problem...yet, has more than a few socialization and esteem issues; which, you understand, I'm not at liberty to discuss with you. Suffice it to say I don't see much of a future to any friendship involving Ms. Lane.”

“Funny, when Jane mentioned the self-esteem classes I was surprised that an intelligent, self-assured person, like Jane, would be placed in such a class. When Jane said that this was the sixth time I was baffled, so I asked her how that was possible. Would you like to know her answer? Oh, and by the way, I see a wonderful future being friends with Jane, thank you.”

“Daria, this is the most determined and vocal you've been all morning; you're either seeing something I'm missing about Ms. Lane or vice versa. So, yes, I'm interested in hearing the answer.” 

“Jane described herself as a square peg; however, Lawndale High only has round holes. Jane knows, and accepts that, she thinks differently and knows she doesn't conform easily. All Jane wants is to be appreciated for her talents and abilities; unfortunately, in her mind, all this School wants to do is to shave down her edges in order to fit their holes. Jane, basically, feels alienated by both the student body and the faculty. she feels everyone sees her as a misfit so she's decided to play the role given to her.”

“Daria, do you think that answer sounds like a person with healthy self-esteem?”

“Mrs. Manson, with all due respect, it seems that Jane has enough self-esteem and strength in her convictions to not change who she is personally just to fit in socially. Jane is honest, smart, confident and a devoted friend: She's true to herself. If you'd only try and look at her objectively; you'd reach the same conclusion I have.”

“Daria, I've – I shouldn't be saying this – evaluated Jane three times...” Mrs. Manson was now a bit flustered and appeared less confident in her beliefs concerning Jane. I pressed the point, interrupted her and made my move.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Manson, I'm sorry for interrupting you but I have an offer for you. Let me speak with Jane at lunch, I'll ask her to try and trust you, then you re-evaluate her after School. I'm certain you won't be disappointed.”

“Daria” Mrs. Manson hesitated then exhaled loudly and continued “alright, I'll re-evaluate Ms. Lane today, after School. If your right then no more self-esteem class; however, if she fails again then I want you to take what I've said under serious consideration. Do we have a deal?”

“I'm copacetic with that.” I smiled sweetly while Mrs. Manson looked as if she might be in need of some Tylenol. Then in a tired, resigned voice:

“Let's get on with the testing.” 

When the fifth period bell sounded Mrs. Manson gave me directions to the cafeteria and let me go. The testing had been tedious, but nothing difficult, and I was glad to have some time away. Jane was sitting alone at a twelve seat table, obviously, not expecting company and, definitely, not expecting me. Jane didn't look up until I had taken the seat directly across the table from her and, by the look on her face – a visage of practiced stoicism, seemed prepared to eschew the unwanted visitor. Almost instantly, though, recognition, confirmed by an ear-to-ear, Cheshire-cat smile, dawned in her sapphire eyes. 

“Amiga, good to see you, welcome to the hall of gastrointestinal horrors; hopefully, you packed a lunch.” 

I retrieved a small brown paper bag from my backpack and set it on the table. “Turkey breast and Swiss with sliced tomatoes and an apple; figured better safe than sorry. What did you bring?”

“Bologna and cheese sandwich, only thing in the fridge.”

Jane unwrapped her sandwich and was about to eat as I bowed my head to offer grace. As I lifted my head, Jane was still holding her sandwich and her eyes were closed. 

“You can eat now, Thank you for waiting for me.”

“No problemo, I'm just not used to the whole bless-the-food thing; don't worry, it's not like I'm uncomfortable with it or anything.” She said that looking – indeed – slightly uncomfortable; so I decided to have a little fun.

“Glad to hear that, maybe tomorrow you can give the blessing.” Jane, uncertain whether I was serious or not, just stared nonplussed at me for a moment.

“No, Morgendorffer, I think the bless-the-food thing will remain your duty for the foreseeable future; but thanks for offering.”

“If you insist.” That said we ate our sandwiches in companionable silence. As we finished eating a female student slowed slightly, as she passed our table, and gave me a rather curious look; then – just when I thought she would stop to speak with us – she turned her head away, sped up her pace and was gone.

“Jane, who was that?”

“Sorry, I wasn't paying attention; was it a student?”

“Yes, a Girl, African-American, about our age, hair in corn-rows and braids.”

“Oh, that would be Jodie Landon: resident super-student.”

“Super-student?”

“Yeah, Class President, Head of Student Council, Editor of the School Paper, etcetera...as well as a four-point-O Student. Why are you asking?”

“She slowed down as she passed and, for a moment, looked like she wanted to speak with me.”

“Jodie, she's constantly recruiting students for one club or another; probably just didn't have the time to sink her talons into you today. Don't worry, by the end of the week, she'll have harangued you at least a dozen times to join something: it's her Raison D'etre.”

“Is there an issue between you two? From your tone of voice, I take it you don't like her.”

“Let's just say we don't see eye-to-eye on anything; I'm pretty certain the feeling's mutual.” I wanted to ask why that was but the tone of Jane's voice – as well as the look in her eyes – clearly conveyed 'let it go'. 

“Okay. So, Jane, what should we do now?”

“I usually head outside, there's a grassy quadrangle with some trees adjacent to the cafeteria. I go there whenever the weather permits.” Sunshine was flooding through the cafeteria windows indicating it would be a fine idea to go outside; so I motioned for Jane to lead the way outside. Once comfortably sitting under a large tree, Jane – at my prompting – started to detail her day to this point and what she still had left; as I had hoped, she finished with an overview of what would be discussed in today's self-esteem class. 

“Jane, would you like to get out of that class?”

“Yes, of course I would, but that's not about to happen.”

“What if the possibility existed; would you be willing to try?”

“Okay, Morgendorffer, what are you up to?” I explained my conversation with Mrs. Manson and the deal that had been offered. Jane, after carefully considering my words, still seemed uncertain about the deal.

“Daria, I appreciate your efforts on my behalf but – truth be told – I trust Manson about as far as I can throw her. She's the reason I'm in that damned class.”

“Jane, I understand your reticence, really I do, but what do you have to lose? Yes, Mrs. Manson's responsible but she's willing to be proven wrong; just be yourself and answer her questions honestly. I know you well enough to know you don't belong in that class. Meet Manson half way and I'm certain she'll see so too.”

Jane still looked uncertain. Leaning forward I said to her in as imploring a tone as possible: “Please? Not for me or for her...but for you.” Jane looked away, lowered her head slightly and heaved a plaintive sigh.

“Alright, like you said, what do I have to lose. I just hate having a quack like Manson rummaging around in my head.”

“That's understandable...” At that moment the bell sounding brought Jane to her feet. She waited for me to stand and then we headed back. The afternoon went quickly and before I was aware of the time Mrs. Manson was excusing me for the day. The testing had seemed a bit too easy and that left me wondering if I'd not paid enough attention to the questions; I was still ruminating the possibility when the sound of Dad's car horn broke my reverie. Quinn was already sitting in the front seat so I quickly took a seat in the back and off we went towards home. Dad asked Quinn how here day had gone and received only one word in response: “fine”. After attempting a few casual follow up questions; and receiving only monosyllabic answers for his effort, Dad – after making eye contact via the rear-view mirror – turned his attention to me.

“So, Daria, how was your first day at Lawndale High?”

“Well, Dad, I spent most of the day taking a battery of psychological, emotional and intelligence tests; so, mentally at least, I'm a bit fried. Tomorrow should be better, I'm going to spend the Afternoon in regular classes.”

“Sounds great, what classes will you be attending?”

“Fifth period – like today – I'll have Lunch, sixth period Gym, seventh period Art and eighth period French II.”

“French II? Have you studied French before?” 

“Yes, Dad, I had been working independently on it for the past six months; hopefully, level II French won't be too advanced. If it is then, starting next week, I'll be assigned a different eighth period class.”

“That's good to hear,Daria. Say, Quinn, don't you have Gym sixth period and Art seventh, too?”

“Yes, Dad, and – surprise, surprise – so does Jane.” 

“What's wrong with that, Quinn, I'd have thought you'd be happy your Sister was sharing classes with you?” Good, Dad had caught the acid in Quinn's voice and was curious.

“God, Dad, can't I make a simple comment without being raked over the coals. If Daria chose the classes to be with me, then – of course – I'm happy about it.” 

“Dad, Quinn, to be honest, there was no choice for fifth or sixth periods: fifth is the Sophomore lunch period and sixth is the only afternoon period for underclassmen to take Gym. Yes, I did ask, specifically, for Art seventh period; but – like with French – because I enjoy the subject. I assume that's why you took Art as well, Quinn...am I correct?”

Quinn's only response was a quick shrug of her shoulders and, moments later, as soon as Dad had parked the car in the Garage she was out of the car. Dad and I simply exchanged confused glances – again via the rear-view mirror – before exiting the car and heading into the house. 

An hour or so later, while trying to convince Dad that adding curry paste to the pot of chili, we were preparing, was probably not a good idea the Phone rang – thankfully, the sound of the telephone ringing distracted Dad long enough for me to put the Curry paste away – and Quinn yelled down from upstairs that the call was for me. Taking the handset from the kitchen table, and clicking it on, I was greeted by a clearly happy Jane.

“Amiga, guess what...you're speaking with an ex-self-esteem class participant.”

“Congratulations, sounds like I owe you a celebratory trip to Pizza Prince.”

“Ooh, yes...yes, free pizza, that sounds appropriate. And speaking of congratulations, here's to you Miss one-sixty-eight.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“Your IQ Score.”

“Jane, that's not possible; and, anyway, how would you know?”

“Well I was in Manson's office after School for my re-evaluation when Ms. Li came in. Manson asked me to step outside and wait in the hall for a few minutes. Now, I won't lie, I thought Ms. Li was there to talk about me; so I stayed near the door to listen in on the conversation. As it turned out, the quality of the building construction was up to Lawndale High standards – which means sub-standard; I could hear everything clearly without any effort at all. That's when Manson told Ms. Li your IQ results and she – literally – screamed the number back at Manson, Thankfully, I didn't have an ear to the door; otherwise, it'd still be ringing. So, once again, congratulations on achieving super-brain status.” Jane had thought I would enjoy the news; on the contrary, I found the news extremely distressing. This was all I needed, yet another way that I – markedly – differed from my soon-to-be classmates. 

“Did they discuss anything else?” I tried to hide the distress I felt but my voice must have betrayed it.

“Yeah, a few things but that's not important. Why are you so upset?”

“Jane, I was already going to have difficulties blending in at School, now add in the Media issues and a substantially higher IQ score; I'll never be able to relate with our classmates.”

“Look, we relate with each other just fine and my IQ score is nowhere near yours. So stop your belly aching and accept the fact that your exceptional. As for our classmates if they can't accept you, that's their problem.”

“Jane, I'm not belly aching, unfortunately, whenever I get stressed out the – metaphorical – glass tends to appear half empty. I'm sorry...I'll be fine. God gave me this gift and – no matter how inconvenient it may be for me at the moment – he gave it to me for a reason; I just need to step back, take a deep breath and pray for guidance on how to best use this gift.”

“Now, that's more like the Daria I know and annoy. So, any idea what you'll be doing for the rest of the week?”

“Well, fifth period – like today – I'll have Lunch with you as well as sixth period Gym and seventh period Art; eighth period I'll be in French II.”

“Why French? I'd have thought German – you already speak it – or possibly Spanish with me.”

“Jane, you and Quinn are in Spanish II, I can barely say 'no hablo Español' and I already speak German fluently; I've spent roughly six months working on French and think I can manage French II. I'd really like at least one class to challenge me; Gym and Art will be fun but hardly intellectually stimulating. Speaking of Gym and Art, what can I look forward to come tomorrow?”

“We started Volleyball today and will probably be doing that for the next couple of weeks. In Art we're studying perspective.”

“Volleyball? Good, I like playing Volleyball...I'm not too bad at it, either.”

“It must be genetic; Quinn was tearing the court up today. She's so good it's kinda scary.”

“Really?” I happened to glance at the clock, then at the pot bubbling on the stove, and realized I needed to get back to the Chili. “Jane, I'd love to talk some more but I've got a pot of chili on the stove in danger of burning. Can I call you later?”

“Sure, Amiga, I'll be here painting.”

With that we said our goodbyes. After stirring the chili and reducing the flame so the chili could simmer, I removed the corn bread from the oven and placed the loaves on a rack to cool. Now, after confirming the rice was fully cooked and it's pot moved to a trivet on the table, I could turn my attention to Quinn; Jane's mention of my Sister's proficiency in Volleyball had given me an ice-breaker; so – under the pretense of calling her for dinner – I headed upstairs to, hopefully, engage Quinn in are first meaningful conversation since my return home. 

“Hold on a minute, I'm on the phone” was Quinn's response after I'd knocked on her bedroom door. Then after a few moments “Okay, you can come in.” As I entered her room and closed the door behind me Quinn gave me a slightly annoyed look and stated coolly “What do you want?”

“Look, I'm sorry if I'm intruding but, seriously, we need to have a talk. I was hoping now might be a good time.”

“Okay, so you'd like to talk...then talk” The look on Quinn's face stated – plainly – leave me alone; however, I was not about to accept such a sarcastic response, ignored my Sister's non-verbal wishes and – bypassing the small talk – plowed straight ahead to my intended topic.

“Quinn, I'm concerned with what seems, to me, to be an unwillingness on your part to interact with me; please, tell me what is wrong?”

“Daria, I have no idea what you're talking about.” 

“Excuse me, if I sound incredulous, but the vitriol in your voice and the leave-me-alone look on your face are telling the exact opposite; so, once again I'm asking, what's wrong?”

“Actually, I was using my get-the- **fuck** -away-from-me face, but – whatever – you got the basic idea.”

“Quinn, please, there's no need for that language; I'm trying to reach out to you, why do you insist on insulting me?”

“Oh, that's right, can't use the F-bomb around my greater-than-thou Christian Sister. God, I simply hate you fundamentalist Bible beaters, you're all so condescending, you think you're so much better and want to shove your beliefs down everybody's throats: All you've done since coming back is act all sweet and holy, like your shit doesn't stink!”

“Whoa, Quinn, I'm, truly, sorry if you think that way; but, that's not me at all. I would never push my beliefs on you or anyone else, what have I done to give you that impression?”

“Look, Daria, from my experience that's what you Fundamentalists do; Stacey's parents consider themselves Fundamentalists and – whenever I'm at Stacey's – all they do is push their views on me. So far you've been quiet about it; but, as soon as I let my guard down you'll be just as bad.”

“Quinn, I'm confused, what do you believe it means to be a Fundamentalist Christian?”

“Oh, that's easy, you believe the Bible – as written – is infallible and your understanding of the Bible is always right. If someone dares to disagree, they're wicked or stupid: basically you're intolerant.”

“Well, I'm certain there must be a radical fringe that fits your explanation; however, you couldn't be any more wrong about my Faith. Would you care to here my, actual, beliefs and how I profess them?”

“Yeah, why not, this ought to be good.”

“Quinn, yes, I believe the Scriptures to be the word of God and, as such, lead my life in harmony with it's teachings. However, I also believe that one must carefully examine and question the Scriptures in order to fully understand it's meaning. Remember, the Bible, you and I read – in English, has gone through a series of at least three translations – ancient Hebrew or Greek into Latin and then into English – not to mention countless hand copying by Scribes and Monks. I'm certain as to the infallibility of God's word; I'm anything but certain of the accuracy of the copiers and translators. As to disagreeing with my beliefs, I'm more than willing to discuss my beliefs: that's how one learns and grows certain in their beliefs. I treat everybody's rights and views, no matter how at odds they might be with my own, with humility and respect. As the Lord says in Matthew 7:12 "So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them”, if I've learned anything from the Scriptures it's to live my live by these guiding principles: Love, Respect, Tolerance, Patience, Humility, Understanding and Forgiveness.”

“Daria, that is, definitely, not what I expected you to say. Look, I admit, the issue is mine...okay? I've wanted nothing more than to have you come back; I just didn't expect you to possess such strong religious convictions. Our family has never expressed any sort of religious belief and when you arrived – so different from my image of you – I was, totally, overwhelmed. After Stacey's parents, and their constant proselytizing, I thought no not at home too. I want to believe you're sincere, give me some time, that's all I'm asking, give me some time.”

“Okay, fair enough, I only wish you'd said something sooner; Quinn, if nothing else, please, believe me when I say this: you're my Sister, I love you unconditionally.”

“Daria, no matter how it may seem, I love you too. Look, you said that you believe in being patient; trust is a tough thing for me – don't push me as to why, I'm not ready to discuss it – and today has, really, helped me. As I said, please, just give me a little time...okay?”

“Sure. Quinn, there's one more thing I'd like to discuss with you: what's your issue with Jane?”

At my question, Quinn sat carefully on her bed, pulled her feet up so that the soles of her slippers laid flat on her bed with the heels tight against her thighs, wrapped her arms around her folded legs and resting her chin on her knees gazed – for a moment – at me rather abashed. 

“This is embarrassing for me to admit, but I'm jealous. You had become friends with Jane before you even came to see us; that hurt and left me wondering who was more important to you. Also, I'd tried to become friendly with Jane, when I first arrived, and she was not very receptive; so, when you mentioned her name on Friday, I was shocked and angry. What was wrong with me, that Jane was cool to me but instant friends with you: I acted badly and I'm sorry.” 

At hearing her words, I sat down, next to Quinn, and gathered her into a hug. “It's okay, nothing about my return was normal or easy to accept. Just understand this, Jane – as dear to me as she is – can't ever take your place in my heart; your my Sister, Quinn, and as I said before – and will say again and again until you believe me – I love you unconditionally.”

After a moment, Dad could be heard, downstairs, ranting frantically about something boiling over on the stove. Giggling together at how absurd Dad sounded, I, reluctantly, excused myself and headed out to save dinner. As I headed down the stairs, I prayed that hopefully, with this behind us, Quinn would soon learn to trust and confide in me. That we would grow strong together as sisters...to be there in each others times of need. There was, absolutely, nothing I wanted more.

 

To be continued...


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer, _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

Chapter 11:

It took a few moments for my still half-asleep brain to realize the beep...beep...beep assaulting my peace was the alarm clock: was it really six in the morning? Rising – unlike the previous morning with uncertainty and more than a touch of dread, but with confidence and expectant of what today could hold – I fairly threw off the covers and headed straight out to shower. Morning routine complete and breakfast eaten, Mom drove Quinn and I to school; Thankfully – like yesterday – the media was missing from in front of the house – unlike yesterday, to my immeasurable relief – they were also mostly missing from in front of school as well (perhaps, Mr. Brown had been right when he said “Nothing will drive the press away faster than a family living a normal life”). Although Mrs. Manson made no mention either of my I.Q. test results or of Jane's removal from the self-esteem class, as the placement testing – for Language Arts – proceeded, I was aware of a more professional tone and a careful attitude in her interactions with me; nevertheless, as I finished the testing and walked to lunch I couldn't shake my concern that everything – so far – had been just too easy. Lunch with Jane had eased my mind and her description of what to expect next period had me, very much, looking forward to my first class at Lawndale High. As we were changing for Gym, Quinn, with Stacey beside her, approached Jane and I.

“Hi Sis, Jane, are you ready for some volleyball?” Quinn's tone was much friendlier and her deliberate effort to make eye contact with Jane showed me yesterday's talk had gotten through to her.

“Well, yes I am. After a day and a half of testing I'm more than ready”

“Quinn, you tore up the court yesterday, I can't wait to see more of it today.” Jane said pleasantly.

“Hopefully, I won't disappoint you.” After looking briefly at Stacey she continued this time with a small but – nonetheless – eloquent smile and with a motion of her arm towards her friend: “So, Sis, you remember Stacey? You met her briefly Friday and Sunday...Jane, I believe you two already know each other: correct?” Once again, Quinn made deliberate eye contact with Jane; my Sister seemed intent on proving she wanted us on better terms. Jane, simply nodded her head indicating that yes she knew Stacey. 

“Yes, of course, nice to see you again. Stacey, are you as eager to hit the court as my Sister?”

“Probably not as much as Quinn but, yes, I am – as you put it – eager to hit the court...”

At that moment a shrill whistle blast silenced Stacey and brought the attention of everyone still in the locker room to the person standing in the doorway to the Gym.

“Okay, ladies, if you wouldn't mind moving it along, I'd like to get started before the end of the period.”

With that said the person turned on her heel and retreated back into the Gym.

“we'd better get moving, trust me, you don't want to get on Ms. Morris' bad side.” Stacey was already walking out of the locker room as she finished her remark with Quinn right by her side. With a quick look at Jane – who merely shrugged her shoulders – we too made our way to the Gym. After Ms. Morris explained that she expected us to each take a set of knee pads from the bag in front of her then form groups of six and practice set volleys; Quinn, Stacey, Jane and I formed up then shortly afterward Ms. Morris called two girls over and assigned them to our group. For ten minutes we stood in a circle and practiced set volleys. While the rest of us worked to make careful overhand sets; Quinn – to my surprise – waited until the ball was nearly to the floor before making precise volleys. Soon, Stacey then Me and finally Jane switched to practicing underhand sets; although, none of us attempted to make our sets from our shoe tops. At the ten minute mark, Ms. Morris again blew her whistle and assigned the groups to one of three courts and said simply: “Okay girls, let's play some Volleyball.” 

“Jane, why don't you and Daria join me in the back row. Stacey do you mind starting in the front with the other girls?” We all nodded in agreement and positioned ourselves as Quinn had requested. Obviously, we had all seen how much better a player Quinn was and followed her as if she were our team captain. Quinn, then rolled the ball to our opponents and motioned for them to serve. Their serve was hit high but not very deep and we easily set and returned the ball. This was repeated by the other team and for the next several minutes the game went on with one side then the other winning and losing serve. After a rather lazy return on our part the other team managed two well placed sets and then a stinging spike aimed at a vacant spot deep on our side; Quinn, however, standing just inside the end line, lunged to her left and while sliding on her knee pads manged to – somehow – get both hands between the floor and the ball resulting in a high, beautiful set to the center of our side of the court. Calling for the ball, I moved to under the ball and just before making my set called out “Jane, net.” then set the ball high and towards the net. Jane, as the ball started it's descent, leapt high and – surprisingly, to me – with her left hand delivered a vicious spike in return that ricocheted off the floor between two stunned defenders. 

“Jane, that was impressive, great jump and spike...and with your left hand?” 

“Yeah, using my left hand gave me an better angle to attack your set. But talking about impressive, Quinn, how in the hell did you dig that ball out...it was coming like a rocket.”

“Lots of practice, Jane. I've been playing competitively since I was eleven.” 

As we were talking a girl on the other team called to Stacey. Stacey, looked at the girl nervously; obviously, not thrilled at being addressed by her.

“So, Stacey” the girl started “how does it feel, having to hang around with losers? Don't worry, though, even losers like them will get tired of your clingy, needy personality and then you'll be all alone.”

Quinn made her way over to me and said in a low voice: “Daria, on the next return I'll call the ball and set it to you, Okay?” I nodded yes and Quinn continued “All I want you to do is set it like you just did for Jane and step out of the way, if you could do that, I'm going to send a little message to that Bitch, Sandi Griffin.”

Quinn then turned to face Stacey: “Stacey, It's your turn to serve; are you ready?”

“Oh, sorry Quinn, yeah I'm ready” Stacey said and moved to the server's spot where the, recently retrieved, ball was waiting. After a high deep serve from Stacey and a high equally deep return, Quinn called for the ball and set it perfectly to me. I, in turn, did as Quinn had asked: set the ball high, just as I had for Jane, then got out of the way. As the balls flight crested, Quinn simply called “mine” then, as the ball started it's descent, sprinting forward she leapt – with such force that her shoulders cleared the top of the net – and with a savage grunt spiked the ball directly at Sandi's, now horror-etched face. The resulting impact sent the ball back into the net where it dropped to the floor, bounced a few times then rolled in the direction of where Sandi, moaning pitifully, now lay curled up in a fetal pose. In stunned silence I thought to myself just how vicious Quinn's “little message” had been and how, consequently, I was now forced to consider what degree of physical prowess Quinn possessed in order to have accomplished it. Those thoughts were interrupted as I realized that – not only was my Sister standing next to me, my little Sister who now stood at least three inches taller than me – she was looking intently at me. 

“Well, that got my point across...don't you think?” Quinn asked coolly while wiping her palms on on her gym shorts.

“Hard to tell. Just what was the point, exactly?” 

“The point, Daria, is that no one messes with a team mate of mine. That pompous, self-centered Harpy has been an annoyance for weeks and Stacey has ignored it. Today, however, she brought her trash talking onto the court; that I simply won't ignore.” 

As we were speaking, Ms. Morris had come over, helped Sandi to her feet, and was asking what had happened; apparently, since she was standing less than ten feet from us, she had overheard our conversation and – after sending Sandi off to see the School Nurse – was now walking over.

“Ms. Morgendorffer, what do you have to say about what happened?” Ms. Morris asked Quinn.

“Not much, just that my hand slipped.”

“Your hand slipped!?! The ball struck Ms. Griffin square on her left cheek and eye.”

“I know. I was aiming for her mouth.” My Sister said this in such a matter-of-fact way I was certain Ms. Morris was about to excoriate her for her impetuous actions; however – to my shock – that didn't happen. Ms. Morris only came closer to Quinn and in a lower voice responded:

“Ms. Morgendorffer, I've been watching you closely for the past couple of days and, honestly, you are possibly the most talented volleyball player I've ever coached. If you'd been in a competitive match and an opposing player were attempting to harass or intimidate one of your team mates what you did would have been appropriate; however, this is a Gym class and Ms. Griffin is your Class mate. If I ever catch you doing something like this again I'll have you running laps until your feet catch fire...do you understand me?” Quinn nodded that yes she did understand. 

“Good, I'm glad we understand each other.” With that she started to walk away but after a few steps she turned and said: “Oh, by the way, I expect to see you at Volleyball try-outs next week; otherwise, I'll be quite disappointed. Trust me when I say: it would not be good for you to disappoint me.” 

“I'll remember that Ms. Morris.” Quinn stated a bit more confidently than the situation warranted.

“Good, you do that.” with that Ms. Morris turned away and was gone. 

“Quinn, what were you doing? Were you trying to get yourself in trouble?”

“I told the truth; I'm not – at all – ashamed of what I did...so why would I act that way. Ms. Morris had a point about the time and place but, in the end, nothing happened. If I'd kept my mouth shut or – worse – lied about it, then Ms. Morris would have really torn into me and I would have deserved it. It would have been disrespectful and as a result Ms. Morris would have lost all respect for me.”

“No, Quinn, I meant your cocky attitude: you acted almost with impunity.” 

“Daria, coaches love confidence and I'm very interested in playing Volleyball here...Varsity Volleyball. Didn't you notice that I, basically, got an invitation to try out from the Coach herself.”

“Okay, Quinn you've got me there; however, I'll never agree with the violence used in conveying your message to Sandi Griffin.”

“No, you wouldn't and that's fine; I guess we'll have to agree to disagree there. Just let me say this, you don't know the whole story...there's no way you possibly could. Once you've been here awhile and have seen how Sandi treats people you still may not agree but, at least, you'll understand.”

With that said we rejoined our group and continued a friendly five against six until the end of Gym class. Still ruminating over Quinn's statements, as we headed to Art, I asked Jane her impressions of Sandi Griffin and the incident in Gym.

“Jane, I need your help, do you think what happened back in Gym was acceptable behavior?”

“You mean between Sandi and Quinn?” I nodded yes. “Well, as far as I'm concerned, anything that happens to Sandi Griffin is acceptable...She's the sort of person that's not happy until she's made someone else miserable.”

“But Quinn intentionally spiked that ball in her face, I'm having a very hard time with that...” 

“Daria” Jane said cutting me off “I know that you're a Pacifist, you detest violence, and – believe me – I respect you for that; on the other hand, I also know the hell that sadistic little Bitch has put others through. Trust me, If Quinn hadn't put her in her place, then it would've only been a matter of time before Sandi had destroyed someone with her back-biting, rumor-mongering and intimidation. She may only be a Freshman but in less than two months she's managed to spread more than a little misery around Lawndale High. Now let's not talk about Ms. Griffin any more; we're almost to Art, That's my favorite class, and I don't want thoughts of her ruining my muse.”

As Jane said this she guided us into a classroom and introduced me to the Art Teacher, Ms. Defoe. After the introductions were over, Jane headed over to the rear wall with me following closely behind; there she removed a partially completed painting and a fresh canvas that she handed to me. Then navigating through the students, some of which had been there when we entered and others just now arriving to class, Jane procured two adjacent easels. Once we had prepared our palettes and were back at the easels; I had a chance to fully appreciate Jane's current project. Jane had mentioned that we'd be working on perspective and I had been preparing a landscape in my mind for class; consequently, Jane's Escher-like warping of perspective left me both enthralled with its eye-deceiving detail and awe-struck by its complexity. Several times during the class other students would, on one pretense or another, meander past Jane's easel curious of what she was creating. This happened frequently enough, that I had managed to ignore the movement, as I worked to lay out the basic lines of my landscape in charcoal; so the arrival of, and subsequent loitering by, one student – at first – escaped my attention. The sound of Jane's voice, obviously annoyed by the newcomer's presence, returned me from my imaginary field of flowing wheat to the here and now.

“What the hell do you want, Upchuck?” 

“Oh, two things my divine Ms. Lane: to take the opportunity to gaze upon your inspired creation and to be introduced to this most enchanting temptress next to you.”

“Upchuck, piss off before I knee you so hard you won't be able to.” Jane turned as she said this and, if the expression on her face could be believed, appeared prepared to carry out her threat. Although his – the only adjective that came to my mind was smarmy – mannerisms were off-putting and his explicit leering insulting; I, nonetheless, wished to avoid being witness to any further violence.

“Excuse me, but whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

“None other than Charles Ruttheimer III Lawndale High's most eligible Bachelor, and, hopefully, your soon to be Paramour. And you, my most perfect vision of loveliness, would be?” 

“Daria Morgendorffer. So, Charles, you consider me to be a vision of loveliness?” 

“Most certainly, my heart's enchantress.” Since he had yet to stare anywhere but my chest, I decided to put an end to his nonsense. So, closing my eyes, I asked:

“Alright then, what color are my eyes?” After a few moments filled mostly by Charles' hmms and uhhs and Jane's contemptuous chuckling I opened my eyes and, as expected, saw Charles looking sheepishly at my face.

“Now, Charles, you know absolutely nothing about me, so let me fill you in, I'm a person of devout Faith who finds your lecherous antics and sexually depraved leering all but detestable; however, if you'll take a moment and listen to my advice, I might find it in my heart to forgive your disgraceful actions.” I waited a moment while Charles digested my rebuke and decided what he would do.

“Please, go on.” 

“One, if you, truly, want to be a friend – not just to me but any of our female classmates – stop leering at Women as if they're nothing but a life support system for two milk glands and a vagina: It's insulting and it's hurtful. Two, drop the smarmy mannerisms: they demean both you as well as whomever you're speaking to. Three, If you ever refer to me as your paramour again; I'll let Jane follow through with her threat...and I'm a pacifist. Oh, and Charles, I'd like to share this verse from first Corinthians with you; hopefully, it'll drive home just how violated your actions made me feel. 'Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body.' Have I made myself clear, do we understand each other, Charles?”

“Perfectly.” And with that he quickly turned and fled back to his easel.

“Good, you gave it to that bastard, Upchuck, with both barrels; I think you hurt his ego more than any knee to the groin I could've given.” Jane said gleefully.

“Jane, my intention was not to hurt him but to educate him; Charles – and Jane, please call him Charles, not Upchuck – has confidence issues and compensates for it by acting the way he does. He's, obviously, an intelligent person who, if he'd only be himself, might make a worthwhile friend. Let's see if what I said sinks in; otherwise, I'll leave him be and hopefully he'll do the same.”

“Oh hell, Daria, please don't tell me you expect me to make nice with that sleaze ball.” 

“Jane, what I'm saying is we should see how he responds and act accordingly; hopefully, he'll surprise us and stop being – as you, so eloquently, put it – a sleaze ball.”

“I don't think it's possible for Up..., uhm, Charles to be anything else but sleazy...I think it's genetic.”

“For now, Jane, just eschew “Upchuck” and see what happens, Okay?” 

“I won't promise you anything except that if he hits on me – even once – I'll need your Mom to bail me out of jail because I will have to castrate the freak.” Jane was, clearly, feeling put out by my request but as I gave her an I'm-not-amused glare and returned to my canvas she relented...if only just slightly.

“Okay, no castrations just severe pain...lots of pain.” Jane wore a small smile as she said it; her eyes, however, betrayed the irritation she still felt. I wanted to ameliorate her mood but, at that moment, Ms. Defoe called for everyone to start cleaning up and soon we were off to different ends of the building for eighth period. 

After returning home, Quinn asked what had happened with Charles in Art class. After I'd recounted the incident my Sister spent most of the afternoon first reiterating Jane's contempt for the boy and then imploring me to avoid – as she, with equal eloquence, put it – that slime ball. Apparently, Charles Ruttheimer III had earned a formidably loathsome reputation amongst the female members of the student body and Quinn felt – as my Sister – an obligation to warn me. After convincing Quinn that I could handle Charles and then preparing dinner I was again questioned, this time by Mom and Dad during dinner, how my day had had gone; consequently, by the time I'd excused myself, returned to my room and made my now nightly call to the parents in Idaho – who of course were also interested in how my first day of classes had gone – it was now nearly ten and time for me to get ready for bed. Unfortunately, this meant that I would not able to speak with Jane until tomorrow at lunch. 

The next morning had gone very similar to it's predecessor and I now sat at our usual table awaiting Jane. After arriving, Jane took her seat across from me and we started eating our bagged lunches; while happy to see me, Jane seemed distracted and not her usual talkative self.

“Jane, please tell me your not still bothered about Art class.”

“What? Oh, no, not at all. Upch...I mean Charles is the last person I'd waste my time thinking about; If you believe you can rehabilitate that incorrigible Pervert the more power to you.”

“I'm not interested in rehabilitating anyone, all I did was suggest to Charles how he might improve himself; However, it is interesting how consistent the girls in our School react to him. When we got home yesterday, Quinn used almost the same words as you to describe her revulsion to Charles. It's pathetic, actually, that he believes Women want to be treated in such a manner.”

“Daria, that boy is absolutely pathetic. I swear the only action he'll ever get is the kind one pays for.”

When what Jane was alluding to sunk in I just stared at her aghast. After a moment, Jane continued:

“Sorry. I know what I just said was crude; unfortunately, so is Charles; Honestly, with the depraved way he acts, I wouldn't put something like that past him. But, again, I'm sorry if the thought offended you.” 

“Jane, I'm not offended, really...I'm not, it's just that where this discussion has gone makes me a bit uncomfortable. Maybe it's best if we take a break and just enjoy our lunch...okay?”

“Fine with me, although I'm finding it difficult enjoying this.” At saying the word 'this' Jane gave a displeased glance towards her lunch. “PB & J just doesn't do it for me; unfortunately, that was all I could find.”

“Well, I know a way to solve that problem. I can pack for the both of us.”

“Thanks, Daria, but that won't be necessary: I can manage.”

“Jane, why won't you let me bring lunch for both of us? Really, it's just as easy for me to make two sandwiches each morning.”

“No thank you. I will manage.” The curtness conveyed in Jane's voice surprised me.

“Okay, Jane...sorry for imposing.” 

“Ehh” Jane said as she shrugged her shoulders. “No imposition, don't worry about it, let's just eat. Okay?”

What else could I do? I nodded that I understood and started to eat my sandwich. A few moments later the girl from Monday – I believe Jane had said her name was Jodie Landon – came up to our table.

“Hello, my name is Jodie...Jodie Landon, I was wondering if I could talk with you for a minute?”

“My name's Daria, Here, why don't you sit down and join us for lunch?” I motioned to the seat next to me and waited to see her response.

“No thank you, I'm not interested in joining you (and with this Jodie gave Jane an arctic glare) for lunch. Maybe we can talk later...alone.”

“Sorry, I don't think there's anything for us to talk about. Have a good day.” Jodie stared at me for a moment then, after another frigid glance at Jane, turned and walked away. After Jodie had moved well out of earshot:

“Jane, what that girl just did has me quite concerned.”

“What's the problem? I told you we don't get along.”

“Jane, she refused to break bread with us. It may not mean anything to you; however, for me it's very important. What happened between you two to cause such animus?” 

“I really don't want to talk about it...It, certainly, doesn't concern you...just let it go.”

“Jane, I just chose sides in a battle without a clue as to what it's about. I did that because I trust you. Now, please, help me here...what have I gotten myself involved in?”

“No. I don't want to discuss it...if you can't respect that than tough.”

“Jane?!”

“I. Said. That. I. Won't. Discuss. It. Now, let it go...or get lost.”

Her words hit me like fists, I had never seen Jane so hostile, she had given me an ultimatum; apparently, she'd rather end our friendship than confide in me. Her words were painful but nothing like the realization that Jane didn't trust me.

“Fine, I've wanted to check out the Library and now seems like a good time”

Jane said nothing as I stood up and made no attempts to stop me. Once outside, after taking several deep, cleansing breaths of the crisp, dry Autumn air in an attempt to regain my – now frazzled – composure, I headed across the quad towards the Library. What did Jane want? Last Thursday she had said that she really needed a friend; now she shuts me out for being that very friend...the friend she said she needed. Hurt, confused, uncertain what to do next and – definitely – in need of guidance: silently, I prayed, 'Dear Father, please, grant me the wisdom and strength necessary to see this through, calm my troubled heart and fill me with your patience, compassion and understanding. Amen'. Lost in thought and in prayer, several minutes had passed before I realized that not only had I entered the Library but was now wandering amongst the shelves. But those minutes spent in contemplation had not been fruitless; for, at that moment, the eureka moment I had prayed for struck. 'Dear Father, even though you've given me eyes to see and a brain with which to reason, sometimes I am still so foolish, thank you for clearing the haze of self-pity from my eyes and allowing me to see clearly'. Jane hadn't been the one acting unreasonably – no, not at all – I had. We've only known each other for six days and that, simply, was not enough time to earn her trust. Jane must think me a naïve, back country, Rube to demand she share such personal and possibly painful pieces of herself so early in our friendship. 

Hearing the end-of-period bell ringing I exited the Library and headed to Gym. With the Library being situated at the opposite end of the School from the Gym I was the last to arrive to the locker room, by the time I changed and reached the Gym, Quinn and Stacey were waiting for me along with three other girls; Jane, however, was with another group and already warming up at the opposite end of the Gym. Due to my late arrival we were the the last game to start; consequently, we were also the last game to finish and by the time I returned to the locker room Jane was gone. As we headed for Art Quinn couldn't help but ask what was going on.

“Daria, why did Jane join another group for Volleyball and why didn't she wait for us to head off to Art?” 

“We had a misunderstanding during Lunch and I ended up going to the Library. I didn't realize it at first but the whole thing was my fault. I guess Jane is still upset with me; hopefully, I can set it right during Art.”

As we entered the Art room there was no sign of Jane so I set up at the same easel as yesterday and waited for her to arrive. But when the late bell rang and still no Jane I felt what confidence I had in repairing our friendship evaporate. I tried to concentrate on my painting but it was simply impossible. As Ms. Defoe made her rounds inspecting how her students were progressing she noticed my obvious malaise and stopped.

“Ms. Morgendorffer, what's troubling you? It looks as if you haven't touched your canvas.”

“Sorry, I'm having trouble concentrating. I was expecting Jane and I'm concerned that she's not here.”

“Oh, don't worry, Jane stopped by a few minutes prior to class and asked if she could go to the Library and do some research for her next project. Now, a bit less worrying and a bit more painting. Okay?”

With that Ms. Defoe went on her way leaving me more concerned than ever. Jane was not just angry, she wanted to avoid me completely. Twenty minutes and several halfhearted brush strokes later I returned my canvas to it's place along the back wall and left for French II. I had no more interest in French than I'd had for the two preceding periods: all that mattered was the final bell. When it finally rang I rushed to the main entrance hoping to catch Jane before she left for home; unfortunately, only my Dad's car was there to greet me, Jane was nowhere to be found. Quinn, with Stacey alongside, joined me a few minutes later and, after saying her goodbyes to Stacey, we got into the car and headed home.

“Daria, I looked for Jane in Spanish Class but she never showed up...sorry.”

“Quinn, thanks for trying. I'm afraid this will need to wait until Jane's cooled off; hopefully, she'll be willing to speak with me tomorrow.”

“What happened between you two?”

“Something's going on between her and Jodie Landon. Today, Jodie came by our table wanting to speak with me so I suggested she join us for lunch. She declined, and made it obvious it was due to Jane, then she asked to speak with me alone: I declined. After Jodie left I asked Jane what was going on but she wouldn't talk about it. I pressed and Jane told me to “let it go...or get lost” so I went to the Library. It only dawned on me later – while I was in the Library – that it was my fault. How could I, after only knowing Jane for six days, push her like that...she had every right to be angry.”

“Daria, don't be so hard on yourself, you were concerned for Jane and you pushed a little: you only did it because you care about her. She'll come around.”

We turned the corner onto Glen Oaks and saw a large package truck parked in front of our house. After Dad pulled the car into the driveway we got out and met the driver as he headed back from our front door to his truck.

“Are you the Morgendorffers” the driver asked my Dad.

“Yes, I'm Jake Morgendorffer, do you have a package for us?”

“I do, for a D. Morgendorffer.”

Stepping forward I introduced myself. “I'm Daria Morgendorffer, the package must be for me.”

The driver handed the clipboard he'd been reading from to me along with a pen and said: “Okay, just sign at the bottom where indicated while I get the box from the truck.” As I read the paperwork I noticed that the package was shipped out of Boise, so it was from the parents in Idaho. I couldn't help but chuckle silently as I considered how quickly I'd become comfortable with having two sets of parents. I'd been calling nightly, like clockwork, at nine pm since my first call last Friday but neither had said a word about sending me a package. Then another fact jumped out at me – and was confirmed as the driver wheeled a trolley, on which rested a very large box, down a ramp from the rear of the truck – the box was listed on the manifest as weighing seventy-eight pounds. What in the world had they sent me? That question was answered a couple of minutes later when I, kneeling on our living-room floor, box cutter still in hand, after carefully cutting through the packing tape, opened the box. The first item I saw was a short note from Mom, that read: “Your Dad and I thought you might be missing your books and music. Don't worry, we left some here for when you come to visit. Love, Mom”. Below the letter – which accounted for the boxes weight – were a good portion of the books from my old room: Shakespeare, Austin, Dickens, they were all there. Then, packed neatly next to the books, my collection of classical music CDs: Bach, Brahms, Schubert, Mozart, Puccini, Rachmaninov, if complete there would be over one hundred and fifty compact discs inside. As I attempted to figure how to best take the items inside the box upstairs to my room, Quinn, realizing my intentions, interrupted my thoughts:

“Daria, take one end of the box and I'll get the other, together we shouldn't have much difficulty carrying it to your room.”

“Girls, maybe you should let your old Man take it upstairs.” By the time Dad had said this, Quinn and I had already lifted the box and, actually, for the two of us, it wasn't bad at all. 

“Thanks, Dad,” I said as we started for the stairs “but the box is well balanced and with Quinn's help it's quite manageable.”

“Daria's right, Daddy” Quinn chimed in “we'll be done in no time.” Then Quinn added “Daddy, do you remember where we packed my old stereo? It has a CD player and it still plays well; maybe Daria could use it until she gets her own.”

“Good Idea, Pumpkin, I know exactly where it's packed. I'll be right up with it.”

“Thanks, Quinn, I was wondering when I'd be able to listen to these discs.”

“You're welcome. Oh, and you'll like the stereo it has really good sound. It just didn't go with my new bedroom.” After we had entered my room and set the box down, Quinn took a moment to take in my room and then motioning in the direction of my taller dresser continued: “But the stereo will fit perfectly right there...on top of the tall dresser.” After Dad brought up the stereo and placed it where indicated, I started transferring the contents of the box to several empty shelves; thankfully, with Quinn's assistance we were finished in a little more than an hour. 

“Okay, Daria, it looks like everything's on a shelf, now pick out a CD and test out the stereo.”

“Quinn, I'd love to but I need to get dinner started.”

“That's not necessary, Daria, just – I can't believe I'm about to suggest this – pop a frozen lasagna in the Microwave.”

“I thought you were sick of lasagna?”

“Yeah, but you need a day off. Come on pick a CD, I'm curious what kind of music you listen to.”

“I've heard the pop music you enjoy, trust me, you probably won't like my taste in music.”

“Oh come on, Daria, I'm not a cretin: just humor me, okay?”

“If you insist, Quinn, you can't say I didn't warn you.” And with that I went over and plucked a CD from a shelf. When it comes to music I'm a creature of habit and I choose music that fits my mood. Today's troubles with Jane had left me quite disheartened and – even with the unexpected present from Idaho – I was locked securely in the grip of a full-blown, glass-half-empty mood; accordingly, I chose the one piece that through its combination of beauty and pathos would both fit and relieve my mood. As the opening piano chords escaped the speakers followed soon after by the lyrics – sung in a rich, deep baritone – of the first of twenty-four songs that comprised Shubert's “Die Winterreise”. 

“Well Quinn, what do you think?” I said as the first song ended; actually, with the look of shock and confusion on her face, I was impressed that my Sister had lasted that long.

“It's...different. Well, I'd better get started on my homework...see you at dinner.” Then, with a still thoroughly confused look on her face, Quinn turned and quickly retreated to the refuge of her room.

The rest of the evening went quickly, due mostly to the dinner conversation over my choice of music and my Parent's subsequent visit to my room to figure out just what kind of music and literature I enjoyed. Apparently, neither Quinn nor my Parents were familiar with classical music and this required a rather lengthy explanation on my part. Then after my nightly call home, during which I thanked them for their wonderful and unexpected care package, I changed, went to bed and, more quickly than I'd thought would be possible, went to sleep. 

The next day, after a totally unremarkable morning, I found myself sitting at what had become my customary place at our customary table waiting to see if Jane would be meeting me for lunch. As the minutes passed without any sign of Jane, I couldn't help but wonder if yesterday's misunderstanding had maybe been one too many in a series of misunderstandings. Had Jane decided to cut her losses and give our friendship the heave? Then someone sat down across from me, as I looked up I couldn't hide my look of shock; because, instead of Jane, sitting across the table from me was Jodie Landon.

“What? Were you expecting someone else...Jane, perhaps?” The smug, self-satisfied smirk on Jodie's face only torquing the already taut knot of anxiety racking my gut.

“Maybe.” 

“You'll have a long wait; Jane was suspended today.” 

“Suspended! Whatever for?”

“I have no idea. I only overheard two secretaries in the main office say Jane had been suspended for a week for bringing “disgrace to Lawndale High”. Maybe now you've got time to talk with me?”

“No. I still don't think we've got anything to talk about...but thanks for the news about Jane.” As I stood up to leave, Jodie continued.

“I don't know how else to put this, Jane is bad news; if you continue to waste your time with her, you'll regret it.”

“The only thing I'm regretting is standing here listening to you. The Apostle James was right when he wrote: “but no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison.”” That said I left. I had intended to take the same route as yesterday to the library but was only able to distractedly wander here-and-there about the quad; Clearly, the news of Jane's suspension had left me quite distressed. Jodie Landon, however, with her smug, self-satisfied expression and gleeful, arrogantly uttered words distressed me far more. I couldn't prove it but, somehow, I knew that Jodie not only knew exactly why Jane had been suspended: she was – at least in part – responsible for it. 

 

To be continued...


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer, _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

My thanks to Peetz5050 for reviewing the chapter and correcting my more egregious mistakes.

Chapter 12:

Dismayed, that's the only word that truly fit my emotional state at the moment – no, not exactly – dismayed and confused by what Dad had said after Quinn and I had gotten into the car and had driven away from school. Thinking back, it had seemed a simple request:

“Dad could we stop at Jane's for a few minutes on the way home?”

“Sorry, Daria, but your Mother called, while I was on the way to pick up you girls, and said she was just leaving work and we were to come straight home. Your Mother also said she needed to speak to you, specifically, Daria...she said it was important.”

“Okay, but why can't we still stop at Jane's house? It's on the way home and I promise to only be a couple of minutes.” 

“Daria” Dad's voice was tense and at the same time tentative, he was holding something back; finally, after a defeated exhalation of breath he dropped the bomb. “I'm sorry, but that's not possible – your Mother's going to skin me alive for telling you this – the reason she needs to speak to you... well, it's about Jane.”

“What about Jane!? Tell me, Dad. I need to know.” the words – frantic and demanding – exploded from me.

“Please, tell us Daddy, It's not fair to Daria.” Quinn added, beseechingly, on my behalf.

“I don't know, girls, your Mother didn't go into detail, she only said it had to do with Jane and to bring you two straight home.”

There was none of the prior tentativeness in Dad's reply: he, honestly, didn't know anything more. That was troubling, if Mom didn't feel comfortable telling Dad, while he was driving, then the news must be bad indeed. I, normally, would consider myself to be a reasonable and rational person; but – as the tears clouded my vision and then slowly laid tracks down my cheeks – it amazed me what desperate and terrible visions my fifteen year-old mind could create. I was scared, it was unreasonable and irrational but – nevertheless – I was cold-sweat scared.

As we approached our house, I could see that Mom's SUV was already in the driveway; so, before Dad could shift the transmission from D to P, I was out of the car, across the lawn and through the front door. Mom was sitting in the living room and before she could stand I was upon her:

“What's happened to Jane!?” 

Dad and Quinn must have entered just behind me because, as Mom was standing up all the while giving me a concerned but curious look, I heard the front door close. After a moment, Mom shook her head knowingly and asked me a simple but loaded question in reply:

“What do _**you**_ think has happened to Jane?”

“I don't know, that's what has me so scared. Yesterday, Jane and I had an argument and we haven't spoken since. Today, I find out she's been suspended from school for a week. Now, on the way home, Dad tells me you needed to speak to me and that it has to do with Jane. I have no idea what to think.” 

“Jake, you weren't supposed to say anything...” Mom stopped talking, gave Dad a frustrated look, then just stood quietly for a moment; at the same time Dad and Quinn made their way to the kitchen, once they had gone Mom let out a calming breath and continued: “Daria, I take it you have no idea what happened at school yesterday, do you?”

“No. What happened?” Mom shook her head again in response, sat back down and motioned for me to sit beside her. “No, I don't want to sit down. I want you to tell me what's going on. Is Jane all right?”

“Daria, as far as I know, Jane is fine. Now, please, sit down and I'll explain everything.” After reluctantly taking a seat Mom continued. “Let me start by saying that in the beginning – as you know – I had some concerns about Jane. It seemed to me that Jane might have been an opportunist and not the friend you believed her to be; As it turns out, I couldn't have been more wrong in my opinion of her. After what I've learned today, I'm now confident that, in Jane, you've found a true and devoted friend.” As I opened my mouth to respond Mom put her hand up and motioned for me to wait. “Please, Daria, I know you have questions, just allow me to finish. Today, I – along with several other attorneys and concerned parents – spent the morning in court arguing to have the permits allowing the press to assemble at your school revoked... we were successful. Now, you're wondering what all that has to do with Jane, right?” I shook my head yes. “Okay, well there was one piece of evidence that was especially compelling. It was a video tape of a student being interviewed in violation of the rules governing the permits. Would you like to hazard a guess as to which student was being interviewed?”

“Jane.” The answer was obvious but I was now more confused than ever. It must have shown in my expression.

“I'm sorry if my explanation has been a bit convoluted, Daria, but it will all make sense in a moment.” 

That said Mom removed a videotape from her briefcase, stood once again and walked to the television. After turning on both the VCR player and the television, Mom inserted the videotape, pressed the play button and retook her seat beside me. As the playback started the shaky, jostled images indicated that a camera crew was hurriedly approaching Jane as she was making her way across the school parking lot. Then voices, at this point off camera, could be heard speaking to each other as well as calling out to Jane.

“Miss, Miss” Said a female voice to Jane.

“Are you sure she's the one?” Said a male voice.

“Has to be, she fits the description.” Said another male voice in reply

“Oh Miss, would you mind giving us a minute of your time” The female voice said as the camera finally reached Jane.

“I don't know, aren't reporters supposed to stay back by the street?” Was Jane's reply as she continued walking.

“No. But we do need to ask for permission. So, do we have your permission to speak with you?” The female voice stated as the camera moved into Jane's path causing her to stop.

“I don't think so.” Jane said tersely as she attempted to step around the camera.

“Oh, come on young lady, there's a ten-thousand dollar pay day for the person who gives us any usable information about Daria Morgendorffer. Sources say you and she are friends...ain't that right?” said one of the male voices from off camera.

“Alright, just who are you? Ten-thousand dollars you say?” Jane was smiling at the camera; the look in her eyes, however, was anything but friendly...Jane was, seriously, irritated.

“I'm Joan Anderson with “Rise and shine America”” the Woman said as she moved quickly on camera. “We're interested in speaking with anyone who has information about how Ms. Morgendorffer spent the last nine years. And yes the ten-thousand dollars is for real. So, if you're interested?”

“No, Thank you. I'm not interested in your ten-thousand dollars.” Jane, practically, spat the words out.

“Really, what would interest you then? We've got significant resources at our disposal, if you'd like us to sweeten the pot.” Said the same male voice from off camera.

“What would interest me, if you really must know, is for you insensitive bastards to kiss my tight, white, runner's ass! How dare you prowl around tormenting my friend and her family! Aren't there any ambulances for you to chase... God, you all make me want to go and puke!” With that Jane pushed her way past the reporter and camera man and walked away. Shortly afterward the screen went black. 

It took a moment before the pieces fell together in my head; however, when they had I turned to Mom and said: “I need to go to Jane's house, now.”

“No, Daria...”

“Mom! Please, don't try and stop me. Jane's been suspended because of this and I feel awful about it. I need to see her.”

“Daria, stop for a second and let me finish. What I was attempting to say, before you interrupted, was that not you but we need to go and see Jane. I know that what took place on the video is the reason for Jane being suspended; moreover, I'm mad as hell that she's being made to suffer – for doing nothing but standing up for her friend – and I intend to do something about that.”

“What are you planning, Mom?”

“I'm planning to go with her to school tomorrow and force that petty tyrant of a principle to do the right thing by Jane.”

“Mom, what Jane said was pretty strong, I'm sure she must have violated something in the school's code of conduct. Are you certain you can make things right for Jane?”

“Daria, I don't know about the school's code of conduct nor do I care. What happened to Jane is a legal issue and, as a lawyer, I'm very certain of my position. When the reporters left their permitted area and approached Jane on school grounds – grounds, by the way, that Ms. Li is obligated to make safe for the students – they committed several legally prosecutable errors. Ms. Li's unconscionable handling of the situation has – in my opinion – only compounded the errors and has left the school district open for civil action. Daria, be assured that I have already put all of the ducks nicely in a row, if Ms. Li tries to stand by her position I will enjoy making her squirm.” 

“Okay, you definitely understand the law far better than I ever will and I trust your judgment. Seriously, though, legally prosecutable errors?”

“Daria, let's count them off. First, they approached a minor on school grounds – knowingly – in violation of their permits. Second, they lied to her when they told her all she had to do was consent to speak with them; in fact, they needed a Parent's or legal Guardian's written consent. Third, they attempted to bribe her. Fourth, they stepped in her path and prevented her from entering the school. Fifth, the lying to Jane, the attempts to bribe her and the implied coercion used on her could easily be construed by a court as corruption of a minor. Honestly, Daria, I almost hope Ms. Li forces me to litigate...if she does, the Lanes' will own her.” 

“Mom, I'm convinced. Now, please, can we go see Jane.” 

Less than five minutes later we were at Casa Lane knocking on the front door. I could hear music coming from upstairs; so I switched from simply knocking to banging on the door and then, when that was unsuccessful – and much to my Mom's displeasure – to kicking the door for all I was worth. Suddenly, the door flew open revealing a very angry Jane; obviously, prepared to tell off whomever had dared to disturb her. When she realized who was at the door, however, her anger left and she simply stood there looking lost and extremely vulnerable. Finally, without looking at me, she spoke:

“Didn't think you'd want want to speak to me again.”

“Jane, why would you think that? The argument was my fault.” At my words, Jane gave me a disappointed glance before turning to speak to my Mother.

“Mrs. Morgendorffer, Thanks for bringing Daria over but, to be honest, I'd prefer to be alone at the moment.”

“Jane, I didn't just bring Daria over; actually, I was hoping to speak with you... would you mind if we came in for a few minutes?”

Jane simply shrugged her shoulders and stepping aside to allow us into the house said: “Yeah, I guess so.” Once we were standing together in the foyer, Jane continued: “Okay, Mrs. Morgendorffer, what do you want to talk about?” While not impolite, Jane's tone of voice and body language clearly conveyed that we were imposing upon her solitude.

“About your suspension, I'd like to offer my assistance, professionally, to you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Morgendorffer, but I really don't want to talk about that.”

“Jane, Mom played the interview for me. Words alone could never convey how thankful I am for how you stood up for me: please, allow my Mom to make things right.” 

“You... saw that interview?” I nodded in confirmation, then Jane – now looking quite embarrassed – continued: “Then you have to realize how badly I screwed up. I know better... I mean – yes – just the sight of the reporters lurking there at school day after day had me seething with anger but I'd promised myself to avoid them. Then, yesterday, out of nowhere, they're in my face and... instead of walking away I... I... go off on them. Daria, I yelled and I cursed at them... I lost control. Damn, I'm so disappointed with myself. On top of that, Ms. Li summons me to her office and calls my actions disgraceful. Daria, she lectured me and berated me for over ten minutes before suspending me for a week. Oh, and if that wasn't bad enough, she's also returning me to the self-esteem class... said anyone that could act that badly obviously has esteem problems.”

“Jane,” My Mom said to get her attention “the reporters and Ms. Li were the ones whose behavior was disgraceful. You, Jane, by all legal definitions are a victim and, if you'll allow me to, I will put a stop to everything.”

“A Victim?” Jane seemed incredulous “I guess it won't hurt to hear you out.” Jane said this as she led us into the living room and offered us seats on the sofa. After we sat down, Jane pulled an ottoman over and sat down across from us. Once we were settled, Mom repeated to Jane what she had told me earlier. Jane's expression brightened some and after listening to what my Mom had to say she replied: “Okay, I'm sold, what do we have to do?” 

“Well, Jane, there are two things we need to take care of before we begin. First, since you're a minor, I need one of your parents to sign paperwork allowing me to represent you.” 

The slight hope that had crept into Jane's expression immediately evaporated. In a defeated tone, Jane replied: “Good luck there, my Folks are never around. Well, thanks for coming over but I guess that puts an end to that idea.”

“Not necessarily, Jane, your Brother, I believe Daria said his name is Trent, is an adult. Do you know if your parents – in their absence – gave Trent power of attorney rights for you on their behalf?”

“I have absolutely no idea. Knowing my parents, probably not.”

“Is Trent home? If so, can we ask him?” My Mom asked carefully trying to be reassuring without being overly hopeful.

“Yeah, he's upstairs. I'll go and get him.” 

As Jane left the room and headed upstairs, I turned to Mom: “Can't you help Jane and get the consent later?” 

“I'm sorry, Dear, but no; otherwise, I'd be no better than the reporters were yesterday. Jane is a minor and needs parental consent.”

At that moment, Jane could be heard from above yelling: “Trent. Trent! Get up! I swear if I have to get the bucket and soak you again to get you out of bed I will!” After a moment “Trent, I told you we have guests downstairs... come on.” Then a few moments later “Dammit Trent, I said we have guests... put on a pair of pants.” 

“Uhm, Mom, if – by some miracle – Trent does have power of attorney for Jane, would it be possible for Jane to come and spend the night with us?”

“It is a school night but I guess it would be alright, why do you ask?”

“Well, you'll probably need to speak more with Jane and I'd like to have some time to set things right between us.”

The sound of footsteps on the stairs ended our talk and a moment later, after Jane had introduced her Brother to my Mom, we were all seated with Mom taking control of the conversation. 

“So, Trent, I assume you're aware of your Sister's recent difficulties at school?” 

“Yeah, Janey told me she'd been suspended...kinda sucks, doesn't it?”

“Yes, I guess one might put it that way, well that's why I'm here. I'd like to help Jane but, since she's a minor, she needs parental consent. I had asked Jane if your parents had given you power of attorney for Jane in their absence; but Jane didn't know.” After several moments of silence, Jane realizing that Trent hadn't understood Mom's question decided to rephrase.

“Trent, did Mom and Dad give you permission to sign stuff for me?”

“I don't know, Janey. When I turned eighteen they had me sign a bunch of stuff – legal stuff – it's in a drawer in their bedroom.”

“Trent” My Mom asked evenly “If you believe your parents wouldn't mind, could I, possibly, see that paperwork?”

“Sure, they won't mind, if you think it'll help Janey, I'll go and get it.”

After Trent had left to retrieve the paperwork my Mom gave me a quick glance and a half smile before turning her attention to Jane.

“Jane, there's no need for all of us to sit here while I look over what Trent's gone to get; besides, I'm sure you and Daria would like to catch up from the last couple of days. Why don't you two go talk in the kitchen, I'll call for you if I find anything.” And with that said Mom motioned for us to get up and then made subtle, but unmistakable, shooing motions in the direction of the kitchen. Without a word I followed Jane. Once Jane had taken a seat at the table and I had taken the seat opposite her we spent a few awkward moments before Jane broke the silence.

“Why do you do things like that?” Jane was clearly frustrated by something,

“Do what, Jane?” 

“Assume that you are somehow at fault when we have a disagreement. You did it last Thursday and you did it again today.”

“Jane, it's pretty obvious that I overstepped a boundary that any reasonable person would never have crossed.”

“Oh, really, how did you do that?”

“Look, Jane, I've known you for a week. You made it clear, yesterday, that you didn't wish to speak about Jodie Landon; unfortunately, instead of respecting your privacy, I pushed you for an explanation like we'd known each other for years. I was a naïve, insensitive clod and I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?”

“So, that's what you think happened?” Again Jane was giving me a look like she was disappointed. I nodded yes to her and she stated very seriously: “I won't forgive you.”

“What?” I was stunned and my voice clearly conveyed it, but Jane – without missing a beat – continued on.

“I won't forgive you, Daria, because you've done absolutely nothing wrong. You've been a real friend, a caring friend – definitely a better friend than I deserve – and how do I respond... by blowing you off. Daria, I was a royal Bitch to you yesterday. I'm sorry.”

“Jane, that's okay, I understand.”

“Daria, no. I don't think you see what you're doing; but, when you take responsibility for our disagreements, you're only enabling my issues. If you haven't noticed, I've got some serious issues when it comes to trusting people. But, Daria, what makes me really mad with myself is that – for the first time in years – I feel that I can trust someone and I still acted the way I did.”

“Jane... thank you.” the words came out only with effort, I was so moved and relieved by what Jane had said.

“Daria, what could you possibly want to thank me for?”

“You feel that you can trust me. What more could a friend want to hear? Jane, I understand... I really do.” We sat silently each in our own thoughts aware that the awkwardness that, only a few moments earlier, had felt suffocating was now completely gone. I heard Trent return to the living room and a minute or so later my Mom called for Jane and I to rejoin them. As we were standing up – remembering the request I'd made to Mom – I turned to Jane:

“Oh, Jane, I was wondering if you would like to spend the night at my house? If my Mom is able to help you it would give the two of you the time to talk things over; also, I really miss the time we had together last Thursday and thought a sleepover would do us both good... what do you think?”

“Amiga, sounds like a plan.”

As we entered the living room the grin on my Mom's face made it clear she'd found what she was looking for. As Jane and I retook our places, Mom confirmed my suspicions: “Well, Jane, I've got good news, your parents did prepare a power of attorney authorizing Trent to act for you on their behalf. Now, all you need is for Trent to sign the paperwork authorizing me to represent you and for you to pay my retainer fee.” seeing the shock on Jane's face my Mom quickly added: “Do you have a Dollar on you?”

“A Dollar?” 

“Yes, Jane, one Dollar. That will pay my retainer and for all services to be rendered on your behalf. Consider it a friend and family discount. Unfortunately, if I didn't charge you something than It'd be considered Pro-Bono work and that can be very tricky when dealing with civil actions.” 

Jane quickly reached into the right front pocket of her shorts, retrieved a handful of crumpled up bills and handed one to my Mom. After my Mom accepted the proffered bill, Jane turned to her Brother and stated simply that she'd been invited to spend the night with the Morgendorffers and that she'd be home the following afternoon. Trent responded in his customary, laconic manner with one word... “Cool”. Jane, went upstairs to pack for the overnight visit leaving Trent to sign the pertinent legal papers retaining my Mom as her Attorney. After signing the paperwork, Trent excused himself and returned upstairs; doubtless, to continue his nap. When Jane came back downstairs I was surprised to see her wearing running shoes, gym shorts and a tank top. In response to my surprised look, Jane handed me her small duffel bag, smiled brightly and asked: 

“Would it be an imposition to have you take my bag and I'll meet you later back at your place? Everything that's happened over the past few minutes has left me with lots of excess energy that I need to burn off; so I thought I'd go for a run. Okay?”

After looking over to my Mom, who nodded it would be fine, I answered: “No, Jane, it's not an imposition at all. We normally have dinner about six, will that give you enough time for your run?”

“Let's see, it's ten after four and I'll probably be running for an hour or so, that would get me to your place around five-thirty, then ten minutes to shower and change; so, yes, I'll have plenty of time to run. Wait, are you sure it's not a problem? I don't want your dinner time planned to fit me.”

“No, Jane, that's when we usually eat, it's not a problem, go enjoy your run.” My Mom interjected as she picked up her briefcase and motioned for Jane to lead us out of the house. Jane headed off on her run as Mom and I settled ourselves into the SUV for the short ride home. Once we were safely on our way, Mom asked:

“Daria, before we turn for home, do you need anything from the grocers for dinner?”

“No, Mom, we already have everything needed for the casserole I'm planning for tonight” after waiting a moment silently for Mom to continue the conversation, which she didn't seem inclined to do, I added ”Uhm, Mom, thanks again for letting Jane stay over tonight.”

“Daria, normally I wouldn't allow it on a school night; however, one issue I clearly remember from back in Highland, before you left us, was your inability...no, not inability, your unwillingness to make friends. Today, you made it quite clear just how important Jane's friendship mattered to you; so, I was willing to make an exception.” Mom stopped speaking momentarily as she turned onto our driveway and parked the SUV in front of the garage. Removing her keys from the ignition, Mom gave me a self-satisfied smirk before adding” Also, you were correct when you said it would give Jane and I some time for planning. I intend to take full advantage of the opportunity to properly prepare Jane for our meeting tomorrow with Ms. Li.” 

Entering the house, Mom headed upstairs to change and I went to the kitchen to start dinner. Twenty minutes later the casserole was baking in the oven and I was upstairs on the way towards the guest room – to get the roll-away bed for Jane – when Quinn called to me from the doorway to her bedroom.

“Daria, how did it go at Jane's?”

“Better than I thought possible. Mom is going to school tomorrow with Jane to have her suspension rescinded.”

“Okay, that's nice, but I was asking about you and Jane...have you worked things out?”

“Well, Jane's coming over for dinner and spending the night so, yes, I guess things are working themselves out.”

“Seeing how upset you were, that's good to hear. I was beginning to think I'd have to beat Jane up for hurting my Sister.” At my shocked look, Quinn quickly continued “Joke, Daria, it was a joke. You don't, actually, believe I'd do something like that...or do you?”

“No, Quinn, I don't. Just, for a moment there, after the other day with Sandi Griffin, I was a bit worried.” 

“Well, don't be. I consider Jane to be a friend and I stand by my friends.” then as a serene expression bloomed on her face, Quinn added: “Speaking of which – that reminds me – I need to call Stacey.” 

I gave Quinn a small, encouraging smile as I continued on to the guest room while she returning to her own room closed the bedroom door behind her. The roll-away bed was in my bedroom, open and made up with fresh sheets, and I was back in the kitchen collecting the items for tonight's salad when the doorbell rang. Retrieving her duffel bag from where it rested against a stool by the entrance to the kitchen I went and welcomed Jane.

Thirty minutes later Jane, showered and changed, had just returned to the kitchen and was asking if she could help me when Dad entered from the garage.

“Sorry, Kiddo, I had to run back to the office for something, hope that didn't mess up dinner. Oh, hi Jane-O, good to see you again. Are you staying for dinner?” 

“Same here Mr. Morgendorffer and yes I'm staying for dinner.”

“Actually, Dad, your timing was perfect, dinner will be ready in about five minutes. If you wouldn't mind, could you go and get Mom and Quinn?”

“No problem, Kiddo, don't mind at all.” 

“Oh, and Dad I'm sorry I didn't ask you first but, when Mom and I were at Jane's earlier, I invited Jane to spend the night.”

“If your Mom said okay then I'm fine with it too. Now let me go and get Mom and Quinn.”

After Dad returned with Mom and Quinn we all took our seats, Mom across from Dad, Quinn across from me with Jane sitting between me and Mom, and I offered grace. For the first few minutes, conversation was minimal as everyone started into their meals; eventually, Quinn – with a slightly puzzled look on her face – asked:

“Daria, the meal is really good – and all – but the chicken tastes a bit funny” 

“That's because it's not chicken” was my reply as I brought a forkful to my mouth. I decided to continue eating before explaining and while I was chewing my food, enjoying Quinn's now fully puzzled expression, Jane jumped into the conversation.

“Hmm, tastes like chicken but isn't... what could that be?” Jane then sat a moment, index finger to her chin, acting as though lost in thought before exclaiming: “I know, it's rattlesnake... am I right, Daria? They say it tastes just like chicken.” Although it was obvious to Mom and me that Jane was joking; the comical, deer-caught-in-headlight look on Quinn's and Dad's faces, however, made it abundantly clear that they had bought Jane's story hook, line and sinker. 

“It's Turkey.” I said quickly, then added: “Jane has a peculiar sense of humor.” I then gave Jane a penetrating look to indicate she should confirm my observation. 

“Turkey, you say?” Jane replied, an innocent, sweet smile on her face. 

“Yes, Jane. Turkey... turkey Tetrazzini.” Well, I guess Jane's answer confirmed my observation; unfortunately, just not the way I had hoped. 

“You're certain?” Jane retorted. Before I could manage a reply that would turn the discussion to my advantage my Mom answered:

“That's right, Jane. That's Daria's story and she's sticking with it.” To my utter surprise, by the playful smile on her face, Mom was thoroughly enjoying Jane's little joke. 

“Whatever it is, it tastes great.” Jane said enthusiastically, then turning her gaze to Quinn and Dad she continued: “Well I see you two have fallen for my evil plan.” After receiving only blank stares for a response. “My evil plan to make everyone else stop eating this delicious dinner. That way I'd be able to gorge myself to my heart's content... almost worked.”

“Hah-Hah” was Quinn's slightly irritated reply. Then with a wicked smirk she added: “note to self, after dinner, beat Jane to a pulp.” After which she returned to eating her dinner.

“Yeah, Jane-O, good one. You had me going there for a second.” Dad added, a bit self-consciously, before returning to his dinner as well.

“Jane, I don't think you'll ever know how good your little joke makes me feel” Mom said with the playful smile still in place “It has been longer than I care to remember since this family has enjoyed a happy, carefree meal together. Now, with Daria back and life returning to normal, I'm hoping for this to become a regular occurrence at this table.”

“Yeah, Jane, Mom's right. Hey, I've got an idea, why not come over next Friday. You can have a go at Daria.” Quinn said with a quick smirk in my direction.

“Okay, I'll bite, what's with next Friday?” Jane asked to no one in particular as she continued to eat. After a short but conspicuous silence and the gazes of my family obviously resting on me, Jane finished chewing, looked around, followed their gazes to me and asked: “Daria, what's up?” 

“Uhm, nothing important, just a little get together... a birthday actually.” 

Jane's gaze remained steady though it's intensity increased by a degree as she contemplated this new information. “Okay, let me get this straight, next Friday is your birthday, Daria... your sixteenth birthday.” All I could do was nod, a bit self-consciously, that she was correct. “Great, wonderful, I'll be there. Then, after the cake, ice cream and presents are done – if you guys don't have anything planned – maybe I can pry Daria away for a few hours. My Brother, Trent, is playing at a club on Dega street called the Zon.”

“Thanks, Jane, but that's not necessary.” I replied a little too quickly.

“Now, Daria, don't be like that, you'll have fun and you really could stand to expand your horizons.” Jane replied just as quickly, prepared to brook any and all arguments.

“Sweetie, we have nothing planned other than cake and ice cream, if you'd like to go it wouldn't be a problem; however, the choice is yours to make.” Mom added encouragingly. 

What was I doing? Just yesterday I'd prayed for Jane to find the strength to forgive me and now I was trying to refuse her invitation. If Jane wished to spend an evening celebrating my birthday than I would accept it for the heartfelt offer it was. “Jane, thank you, here's to spending my birthday expanding my horizons with you.” I said as I raised my glass of soda in a mock toast.

“Great! Now all I have to do is get Trent to add happy birthday to the bands set list.”

“On second thought” I said in a contemplatively “I might just spend the night studying Paul's letter to the Hebrews instead.”

“Oh all right, no happy birthday.” Jane replied in a mock pout “you're such a party-pooper, Morgendorffer.” That settled we all returned to our meals. 

When dinner was over Mom asked Jane to join her in the living room while Quinn helped me cleaning up the kitchen. As we were finishing in the kitchen Jane came in to say that she and Mom were done. Quinn said she needed to finish her homework and left for her room. Since it was only a little after seven, I asked Jane if she wanted to watch some TV downstairs. Shaking her head she answered:

“No, Daria, I did a lot of thinking during my run and all I want to do is just go to your room and talk. You deserve some answers and now I feel ready to give them.”

“Okay, let's go upstairs and get settled in, tomorrow may be a long, tough day; so turning in a little early might be a good idea.”

Once we were in my room, Jane grabbed her duffel bag and removed her sleepwear. I took my own sleepwear from the dresser planning to give Jane some privacy by going to the bathroom to change; however, as I turned to leave Jane had already taken off her outer clothing and was just slipping out of her bra. I turned so that my back was toward her and standing by my bed waited for Jane to finish changing.

“Daria, what are you doing?”

“Just giving you some privacy.”

“Privacy? Daria, I'm more exposed than this in the shower room at school. It's not an issue.” When I didn't answer or start to change myself “Jeez, Daria, you're acting like you've never seen anyone in the all-together before.” When, after I had stood motionless a few seconds too long without replying, Jane – not even attempting to contain the intense surprise conveyed in her voice – plowed on “Never! Really! Wow! Daria... Okay, I think I understand.” Then, a moment later “Alright, you can turn around.”

I turned expecting to find Jane dressed for bed; to my shock and utter discomfort, instead, Jane was standing, arms tucked behind her back, wearing only peach colored panties. Turning quickly so that once again my back was to Jane, I voiced my displeasure with her. “Lane, what are you doing?! You're still naked!” My words were clipped and said in a pitch a few steps higher than normal. The discomfort was obvious in my voice.

“No, Daria, I'm not naked. I'm undressed.” 

“I fail to see the difference.”

“Naked implies something that is wrong or dirty, I'm undressed... a normal, natural state. You shouldn't feel uncomfortable at seeing me like this. There's something more going on here... what is it?”

“Jane, I'm a modest, private person, your attitude is more casual than mine.”

“Daria, with all due respect, that's bullshit.”

“Excuse me?!”

“What's going on here has nothing to do with modesty, Morgendorffer, if you're this uncomfortable seeing me undressed than you're, probably, having the same issue with your own body.” After a moment, Jane continued. “Okay, I'm dressed now, please turn around... it's much easier talking when we're face to face.”

I turned around, relieved to find that Jane was, indeed, dressed but still miffed by the whole situation. “I fail to see how not wanting to be naked in front of others is an issue... or, by the way, any concern of yours.”

“Okay, Daria, simple question, why don't you want others to see you undressed? Oh, by the way, I'm not others I'm your best friend and you're mine. That's why it's my concern.”

“Jane” I stopped, sat down on my bed and took a moment to think through my answer. “unfortunately, many people are unduly influenced by physical appearance and I, basically, want nothing to do with that. Up until a couple of years ago, I was an undersized, underdeveloped, scrawny kid with no real friends; accordingly, whenever someone approached me it was either because I was smart and could answer their question or they could engage me in a stimulating conversation and I was comfortable with that. Then puberty struck. Now, I find myself in extremely uncomfortable situations like with Charles the other day. All I want is for people to respect me for who I am inside.”

“Okay, I understand some of what you're saying. Nothing's more annoying than being ogled by testosterone-besotted teenage boys; but that's their issue. What I don't understand is how this has anything to do with being undressed in front of another girl?”

“I just don't want my body to be part of my interactions with anyone... period. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Daria, that isn't healthy, you know? You should feel comfortable with everything about yourself... being happy in your own skin and all that other self-esteem stuff.”

“Jane, I think you're over analyzing this a bit.”

“Really? Remember the other day when I told you your IQ score?”

“Yes.”

“What was your reaction?”

“That I thought it would make it harder to interact with the other kids at school.”

“Well, yeah, at first then you said you, sometimes, tended to see the glass as half empty and then you said it was a gift from God and you'd pray for how to best use the gift. Guess what? From what you've been telling me everything is a gift from God... right? Maybe you just need to pray about [b][i]this[/i][/b] little gift.”

I sat there, momentarily, flummoxed by the notion that Jane was counseling me to pray. Then, realizing that she'd somehow won her point, I simply smiled and with a nod of the head conceded. “You have me there, Lane, since when did you become so smart?” 

“Since I became your best friend, Morgendorffer.” Jane said matter-of-factly, all the while, wearing a cat-that-just-ate-the-canary smile.

“Best friends is uncharted territory for me Jane but I like it... a lot. Thanks for telling me what I needed to hear.”

“No problemo, mi Amiga. It's the second time around for me, that's why I felt I could push a little bit. And for the record – for being in uncharted territory – you're everything anyone could want in a best friend.” Jane said this as she sat next to me on the bed putting an arm across my shoulders and pulling me close.

“Second time around?” I replied a moment later, confused by Jane's admission.

“Yeah, from third until the start of sixth grade. We were all but inseparable.”

“What happened?” I hadn't thought before asking the question. At seeing the pained look on Jane's face the question elicited, I immediately tried to back pedal. “Sorry, it's not important. I should have thought before asking.”

“No, it is important and you really do need to know. Just, please, just... give me a second.” We sat for a moment, Jane removed her arm from my shoulders and after placing her hands in her lap started again. “Okay, first I need to give you a little family history. I have two Sisters and two Brothers, the oldest is my Sister Summer, then my Brother Wind, my Sister Penny and of course Trent. Summer has had four kids by four different Fathers and she never married any of them. Wind – by contrast – has been married five times each one ending soon after in an ugly divorce. He's the emotional equivalent of a wet dish rag... soft, damp and clingy. Penny, as far as I know has never been emotionally involved with anyone... she's too damn angry all the time. Trent, well he's been involved in an on-again-off-again relationship since I was in fifth grade. Their relationship is a pathetic cycle of non-stop bed spring straining, headboard-against-the-wall slapping sex followed by vicious loud break-up arguments where they hurl some of the most vile and hurtful epithets at each other. Then after a week or two they get back together and the cycle repeats itself. And if that's not enough relationship negative reinforcement, my parents are apart from each other so much it's difficult to tell if they even still have a relationship.”

“Jane, I'm moved that you trust me enough to tell me this; but I'm also confused as to why you felt you needed to. Also, why is it important to tell me about an old friendship that is, obviously, a painful memory for you?”

“I'm getting to that now. It's important because you asked me about it yesterday. You see, during the Summer between fifth and sixth grade, my best friend, Mike, started hinting that he wanted us to be boyfriend and girlfriend. As I just explained, growing up in the Lane family left me with very pessimistic views of relationships and I was afraid that changing anything about the friendship would ruin it. So, for the remainder of that summer, I just kept saying I wasn't ready whenever he hinted about the boyfriend / girlfriend thing.

“Now, the summer is over, Mike and I start sixth grade and lo and behold there's a new girl in our class. Seems the girl's family had just moved to Lawndale so she hadn't made any friends yet. We start talking to her and almost immediately it's pretty clear that the girl is interested in Mike. Well, Mike's only interested in me and that leads to an interesting – in the Chinese curse sort of way – dynamic amongst us. Then, Daria, I get what I thought, at the time, was a great idea and end up making the one, truly, stupid mistake of my life. I go to the girl and tell her that I'm only interested in Mike as a friend and that – if she'd like – I'd talk to Mike about her. The only condition being that the friendship Mike and I had would stay as it was. Needless to say, that didn't happen. Shortly after they got together, Mike stopped hanging around with me and then we stopped talking altogether. I learned the hard lesson of what happens when you lie not only to your best friend but to yourself.”

“Jane, I'm sorry.” I knew it was lame but there was nothing else to say. “What happened to Mike?”

“Oh, he goes to Lawndale High. Just now everyone calls him by his nickname. You asked me to explain the battle you'd gotten involved in... now you know.”

It took me a moment to connect the dots. “Jodie Landon?”

“Yes, Daria, now-a-days no one calls him Mike... It's Mack.” 

 

To be continued...


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer, _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

Chapter 13:

I had seen the boy – Jane had once been best friends with – in the hallways between classes and I already knew these basic facts: he was Captain of the football team, generally well liked and respected. Also, according to Quinn, Mack and Jodie were considered the most popular and admired couple at school. That had puzzled me, since – even though Jodie and Mack shared the same lunch period – the few times Jodie had approached me had always been during lunch and always alone. Now, with Jane's revelation supplying the crucial missing piece, I understood. Ms. Landon had spun quite the little web of deception and intrigue: one worthy of Machiavelli, himself. As I considered this, a couple of verses from Proverbs – I'd recently read – came to mind: 'What the wicked fears will come about, but the longing of the righteous will be granted. When the storm ends, the wicked vanish, but the righteous person is forever firm.' As long as we kept ourselves above the machinations I had faith that Ms. Landon would eventually end up exposed, trapped in her own web. Abandoning my musings, the sight of Jane sitting beside me, nervously rubbing her hands against her thighs made me realize that I'd probably been quiet a bit too long.

“Jane, thank you for telling me about you, Mack and Jodie.”

“De nada, Amiga.” That said, Jane stood, walked across the room to the roll-away bed, and proceeded to fold her discarded clothing. Watching as Jane folded her red overshirt reminded me of a question I'd been meaning to ask.

“Jane?”

“Yeah?” Jane answered absently as she placed the now folded overshirt into her duffel bag.

“Why do you dress the way you do?” The quirky little face Jane made in response to my question, eyebrows just slightly peaked and her lips raised up into something not quite a smile but different than her customary smirk, gave the impression that she'd understood the question perfectly; nevertheless, an impish playfulness conveyed in her eyes stated clearly she wasn't ready – just yet – to take the bait.

“I'm not sure what you're asking me, Daria?”

“Well, your outer clothing seems to be purposefully...” Here I found myself at loss for words appropriate to describe Jane's style of clothing. Masculine? No. Androgynous? Not really. Unfeminine? Possibly, but, again, not really. Finally my mind grabbed the most neutral term accessible and I feebly ended my statement as a question. “non-gender specific?” 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Now the playfulness in Jane's eyes was replaced by sheer, unadulterated glee, she was enjoying pulling this out of me. 

“Okay, Lane, stop playing with me. You know what I'm asking. You intentionally dress outwardly in a gender-neutral manner; however, underneath your choices in undergarments are not just, decidedly, feminine they're provocatively feminine... what's the deal?” 

“Oh, is that all. It's simple really, I dress like this to keep the mindless, hormone-driven hordes at bay. That way when a boy comes up to me it's because he's taken the time to learn a little bit about me first. That means he's not just interested but – most probably – relatively intelligent. The underwear is the feminine inside that's the real me. You know, like the old saying: don't judge a book by it's cover.”

“Okay, I think I get what you're doing. Something similar to why I keep my glasses.”

“Daria, again with all due respect, you may think that; but it's not the same thing. My clothing is a filter. Your glasses are a barrier.” 

“Jane, that's not true. I've worn this style of glasses since I was three years old. Anybody interested in who I am inside has seen past them.”

“Honestly, those glasses may have been appropriate for a three year old but on a nearly sixteen year old girl they're, definitely, put-offish... Daria, they're basically screaming keep the hell away from me.”

“Jane, sorry, but that's your opinion, an opinion – by the way – I don't happen to agree with.” the perfunctory tone my voice had taken on surprised Jane, while her words hadn't angered me they had, nonetheless, hurt a little. 

“Look, I'm never going to convince you with words, even though I know I'm right, but if you'll indulge me I [i]can[/i] prove my point to you.”

“Oh, really.” I said incredulously. “How might that be possible?”

Jane reached into her duffel bag and removed her sketch pad. Holding it in front of her she stated matter-of-factly “How else? By drawing you.” The look on Jane's face was easily readable... resistance was futile. After taking several minutes to properly pose me, with my body at a three-quarter alignment but with my face fully aligned with her position, Jane carefully draped my braid over my left shoulder and made fine adjustments to the position of my head before sitting cross legged on the roll-away bed. With artist's pencil in her right hand and sketch pad opened on her lap Jane asked me to stay still as long as possible and commenced drawing. Ten minutes into the sitting Jane said she had gotten the basics down and I could move a bit if I was stiff but to try and keep the basic pose. Actually, the pose was not uncomfortable and the shuushing sounds of Jane's pencil as it skittered, like skis across crusted snow, against the paper was unexpectedly relaxing. Also watching Jane's handling of the pencil was in itself captivating, gripped at the finger tips, set between fingers, flat to the paper or held at various angles I'd never believed a pencil could be used effectively in such various ways.

Twenty minutes later, Jane set the pencil down and, holding the sketchpad close to her chest, slowly stood stretching her legs and back to ease the stiffness that had taken hold of her.

“Okay, do me a favor and go look at yourself in the mirror.” I walked over to the mirror on the closet door and looked at my reflection as Jane had requested.

“Now, try and smile as you did while you were posing.” I could sense Jane coming a few steps closer to me while she was speaking. I took a moment and reset my face to the earlier pose and considered my reflection.

“Good. That's it exactly.” Jane came up to my side and held her sketch up next to the mirror and level with my reflection. “What do you think?”

[](http://www.flickr.com/photos/89277727@N00/7742458838/)

What did I think? I was too stunned to think. Before me was my likeness in graphite on paper perfect in every detail. No – as I looked back and forth between the drawing and the mirror – it was more than a perfect likeness, for no matter how hard I tried to adjust my expression, it was kinder, softer, more inviting than my reflection. The only difference between the drawing and my reflection were the glasses, somehow, the narrower, oval upper with half hexagon lower framed glasses in the drawing effected an entirely new persona... Jane had been right.

“So, Daria, do you like the look?”

“Yes...” I hesitated, unable to find words, adequate, to express the image, an image I was still trying to wrap my head around, but feeling – nonetheless – compelled to answer, before I could continue, however, a knock on my bedroom door broke my reverie.

“Daria, can I come in?” Quinn said after knocking then, without waiting for an answer, she opened the door slightly and stuck her head into the room. “I was about to take a shower and wanted to know if you or Jane needed to use the bathroom first?” Seeing me at the mirror with Jane by my side holding her sketch pad, Quinn stepped into my room and, with a curious look on her face, made her way over to where we were standing. “What are you two doing?” When Quinn saw Jane's drawing she stopped and said in a hushed, breathless voice “My God, Jane, it's amazing” then holding her hands out tentatively towards Jane “could I please? I'd like to take a closer look.” 

Shrugging her shoulders casually as she handed her sketch pad to Quinn, Jane said “Sure Quinn, knock yourself out. Just try and hold it by the edges. Okay?” 

Carefully taking the pad from Jane, Quinn stared for several moments at the drawing. “Jane, it's so lifelike it's incredible but why the different glasses?”

“Trying to prove a point to Daria. She said her glasses prevented idiots from bothering her and I said they were keeping everyone away. She wasn't convinced, so I drew that to show how different glasses would change peoples' perceptions.” 

“That's not what I said, Jane. I said that anybody interested in who I am inside would see past them.  
You were right, though, your drawing clearly proves my glasses are at odds with who I am inside.”

“So, Daria, does this mean you're going to get new glasses?”

“I don't know, Quinn. The drawing is persuasive, but I'm not certain if I'm ready to change my look quite yet.”

“Oh come on, Daria” Quinn whined, petulantly “Seeing how great you look in this drawing and continuing to wear [i][b]those[/b][/i]...” Quinn stopped to point at my glasses with a look of abject contempt on her face. “...is just wrong!” After a moment, Quinn's demeanor changed “I know what to do” she said before bolting from us with Jane's drawing still in her hands. Just before reaching the hallway, Quinn yelled “I'm showing this to Mom.” and she was gone.

“What just happened?” Jane said after seeing the look of acquiescence in my eyes. 

“What happened? Well, it appears, that's game, set and match, Lane. Once my Mom sees the drawing she'll agree with Quinn. Seems I'm destined for new glasses, whether I want them or not.”

“Jeez, Daria, I'm sorry, that's not what I wanted to happen... that just sucks.” Genuinely worried over the chain of events her drawing was initiating.

“Well, it would, Jane, except for one small detail.” I said with a small contented smile growing on my face.

“And what, pray tell, would that small detail be?” Jane asked still worried for me.

“That would be the fact that – now that the initial shock of seeing the drawing has worn off and I've had a moment to think, clearly, about it – I think I really like myself in the glasses you've drawn. I hope this doesn't sound vain, but I like the effect.” 

“Oh, yeah, Daria, pure, unadulterated narcissism if I've ever heard it.” Jane answered with a chuckle. I found myself giggling, as well, at the irony loaded into Jane's retort. “So, you're good with the whole getting new glasses thing?” Jane asked sounding much relieved.

“Yes. I'm ready, just don't say anything. Let Mom and Quinn think they need to convince me”

“Why?” Jane said now very confused.

“It's complicated, Jane, but – basically – we need moments like this to bond as a family. My allowing them to convince me shows that I'm willing to trust their opinions. If I hadn't run away in the first place, we'd have had nine years to accomplish this sort of bonding naturally; now I need to appear to acquiesce to make up for the lost time. It may be a bit devious, but in the end everyone's happy and we grow together as a family. Jane, I love them and I think they know that, what I need for them to know is that I trust them, too.”

“Whoa, that's deep... really deep. Trust. Don't I know the importance of that little word. What ever you need me to do consider it done, Amiga.”

“Thank you, Jane. I hear Mom and Quinn coming so just play along, okay?” 

Jane nodded her agreement just as Mom entered my room followed by Quinn. I listened as they worked to persuade me to get new glasses and, offering a few mock protests on my part, waited for the right moment to concede. Finally, Mom asked:

“Daria, why do you insist on hiding yourself away from people?”

“I don't believe I'm doing that. But I trust you two only have my best interests at heart so I'm open to at least looking for new glasses. No promises, but if I see something better, then we'll see... okay?” 

Surprised by my concession, but not wanting to lose their momentum, Mom said quickly “How about Saturday morning?”

“If you insist. Can Jane come too?”

“Of course.” then turning to Jane “This is so artfully done, Jane. You, truly, possess a rare talent. With your permission, may I scan a copy to my computer?”

“I'd like that, Mrs. Morgendorffer. I'm always happy when people appreciate my work. Do you mind if Daria and I come with you, I'm curious how well pencil on paper will stand up to being scanned.”

“Of course, Daria's Father and I have a small home office set up in the guest bedroom, follow me and I'll scan it right now.”

Ten minutes later I was looking at the final scan of Jane's drawing on Mom's Computer. It had taken a bit of trial and error until, after several attempts at various resolutions as well as attempts using black-and-white, color and eventually gray-scale scans, Jane – as always the perfectionist when it came to her art – was, finally, satisfied with the results of the scan done at 300 DPI in gray-scale mode. While marveling at the detail preserved in the scanned image a thought occurred to me: I'd made a promise to send photos to the folks in Idaho, Jane had produced such an uncanny likeness, I was sure they would appreciate it.

“Mom, do you think we could Email a copy to the Davidson's?”

“Sweetie, what a wonderful thought, I'm certain they'll be thrilled. Do you know their Email address?”

“Yes, Mr. Davidson is a structural engineer for the Idaho department of transportation so his Email address is easy to remember: george_davidson@dot.idaho.gov”

“Okay, just give me a moment to open up outlook, enter their Email address and attach the scan of Jane's drawing...” after Mom had set up the Email “...good, the file is less than 1 MB so it shouldn't take very long to send or receive. Daria, why don't you sit down and write a short message to them.” Doing as Mom suggested I sat down and typed out a couple of paragraphs before clicking the send button to launch the message into hyperspace. 

“Okay, Mom, Email's sent. Thanks.” I said as I was standing up. As Mom took the seat I'd just vacated – clicking the mouse first closing her Email and then shutting down the computer – she said, as much to herself as to anyone within earshot, “Got to remember to stop tomorrow afternoon and pick up some extra-heavy bond paper and a frame.” 

“Jane?” I asked as I stepped away from the desk “Quinn had said she wanted to take a shower, did you need to use the bathroom first?” 

“No, I'm good for now.”

“Quinn” I said turning to where my Sister had been observing from the doorway “to answer your earlier question, Jane and I are good for now, the bathroom is all yours.”

“Good, a quick shower is just the break I need before tackling the rest of my homework.”

“Speaking of homework, Jane, didn't you say you wanted my help with your math homework?”

“Oh yeah, Math and I are rarely on speaking terms... the homework's from Wednesday, but your Mom made it very clear to me earlier that I'd better have all assignments done and ready for tomorrow.” 

“That's right, Jane” Mom said as she stood up “You'd better believe that, by the time we're finished tomorrow, you'll not only be allowed to turn in all completed assignments: You'll be given time to complete any assignments or tests you might have missed while out of school.” 

That said we all headed out of the room, Quinn to go shower, Jane and I back to my room and Mom back downstairs to whatever she'd been doing. Forty-five minutes later Jane's homework was finished. Though Jane would never find math easy, I was confident that she'd grasped the concept being taught well enough to test competently on the material. I was just returned from brushing my teeth to find Jane inspecting my collection of compact discs. 

“Damn Morgendorffer, this is quite a collection... I'm impressed.” Then after a beat, Jane continued “Mind telling me what's on them? I've never heard of any of these people.”

“Classical mostly. I was planning to call Idaho in a few minutes, but afterward, if you're interested, I'd be happy to play something.”

“Possibly, how long do you think the call will take?”

“Usually only ten to fifteen minutes, I call them every night around this time to talk about the events of the day.”

“Really? Everyday? Well, tell you what, why don't you make your call and I'll go brush my teeth and wash up.” 

“Sounds good to me.” By now I was sitting on my bed, having just retrieved the cell phone from my night stand, preparing to make my call as Jane, toothbrush and toothpaste in hand and bath towel draped over a shoulder headed out. Listening, first to the dial tone then – after keying in the numbers – to the sound of their phone ringing, waiting for someone to pick up the phone I wondered if they'd had an opportunity to look at the drawing. the excited edge to Mom's voice as she answered “Hello, Daria” put an end to my wondering, as I'd hoped, Dad – as was his daily habit – had checked his Email upon arriving home from work.

“Hi, Mom. I assume from the tone of your voice you've seen the drawing.”

“Yes, your Father just printed a copy and I'm looking at it now as we speak. I am curious, though, as to why you never mentioned that you'd gotten new glasses.”

“Well, that's because I haven't... yet.” 

After a lingering silence from the other end of the line, in a perplexed voice, Mom replied “I don't understand?”

“You remember me mentioning my friend, Jane? We were discussing clothing choices and how it effects peoples' perceptions. Jane felt that my glasses sent a negative message and sketched the drawing to prove her point. After looking at my self in a mirror and comparing it to the drawing, I was forced to agree with her; so Saturday I'm off to find new glasses.”

“Of course I remember, you mention her every time we speak. Daria, I hope you realize how blessed you are to have been guided to such an important friendship so soon after arriving in Lawndale.”

“Trust me, Mom, I Know. If Jane's opinion wasn't so important to me, I wouldn't have decided to get new glasses.”

“Yes, the drawing is most convincing... not to mention skillfully executed.”

“Mom, why do you sound surprised that Jane drew this?” 

“Honestly, Daria, I'm stunned that this was drawn by a teenager. The detail, the energy, I know you as well as anyone and Jane has managed to capture the essence of what makes you, you... when I look at this drawing I, actually, feel you're standing here next to me. Jane is an amazing talent, she possesses a level of skill and artistic style far beyond her years...”

As Mom went on praising Jane's artistry, I continued listening only partly aware of what was being said, My thoughts were replaying her previous observation and, yes, I had to agree that Jane's friendship was indeed a blessing. Jane's return broke my contemplation and focused my attention back to Mom's voice just as she said “... It's almost like God – as a gift for time lost – has given you a second Sister.”

“You know, Mom, what you just said describes, exactly, the feelings I've had difficulty recognizing. Hey, Jane just came in, instead of me repeating our conversation, I'm sure she'd much prefer hearing it from you.”

Hearing Mom say that she had been hoping for an opportunity to speak with Jane, I placed my hand over the lower half of the cell phone to mute my request and – as nonchalantly as possible, with a playful smirk fully in place – said to Jane “Hey Sis, Mom would like to speak with you.” Jane was momentarily flummoxed by my words but quickly recovered after seeing the expression on my face. As I moved the phone from my ear towards where Jane was standing she mouthed “okay” and carefully took the phone from my hand. 

Once she'd taken a seat at the foot of my bed, Jane placed the phone to her ear and in her throaty alto spoke her, now – for me – very familiar, phone salutation “Yo.” 

A moment later, Jane responded “Same here, Daria's told me a lot about you, too.” Then “Thanks, it was my pleasure...” followed soon after by “Wow, I don't know if I'd say that...” then a short while later, with a chuckle evident in her voice “Well, if you insist, my ego's not so big that it couldn't stand a bit of congratulatory inflation; but, honestly, I'm just happy that you appreciate my work...” Finally, a few moments later and in the quiet, candid voice Jane only uses when something touches her to the core “Thank you, I feel the same way about her...” Then after a couple of head shakes and in a much lighter tone of voice “Yeah, me too. Well, until next time, Adios.” Then standing up Jane handed the phone back to me before – quietly, so not to disturb my now renewed conversation – going to lay down on the roll-away.

I finished up the call a couple of minutes later. After plugging the charging cable into the cell phone then placing it on my night stand I turned to face Jane “If I put you on the spot, I'm sorry. She really wanted a chance to speak with you.”

“No, Daria, it was fine. She just said a few things that caught me off guard... that's all. At least now I understand where that “Hey Sis” remark came from... we do act more like sisters than friends. I was never really close with Summer or Penny and I always felt, somewhat, slighted. Now, after speaking with Eileen – and before you say anything she insisted I use her name – it kinda makes sense.”

“How so, Jane?”

“Normally, things people say or do don't get to me; you, however, have this ability to reach deep inside of me and pull out emotions I usually keep well in check. Hell, Yesterday I was so angry with you, Daria, that I lost it... the only other person who can get to me like that is Trent.”

Okay, wow, it was surprising how deeply Jane's words effected me. As I searched for a suitable reply an old memory surfaced that encompassed, perfectly, what I was trying to say. “Jane, when I had only been in Idaho for about a year, I remember having said something to Mom that, although I thought was insignificant, had hurt her feelings. When Mom saw the look of confusion and sadness on my face – in response to her reaction – she told me something that at the time I only partly understood. I think that now I understand what she really wanted to explain to me that day.”

I noticed that Jane seemed curious to hear what had been told to me and since she made no attempt to take up the conversation I continued “Mom told me 'Don't be eager or hasty to speak harshly to those you love and trust: be very careful and thoughtful, take all the time necessary to say exactly what you mean. Remember, Dear, we only hurt the ones we love.' I understood, then, the obvious part about those closest to you being most easily hurt by carelessly spoken words. The implied meaning in her words, though, has only become clear to me now: how important, rare and special truly close relationships are. Until last week I'd only felt that close to the Davidson's, I'd never had any real friends – either in Texas or Idaho – and, it shames me to admit, I had been anything but close to Quinn or my parents. I think, that's why I hadn't – until now – been able to recognize what's been going on between us. I asked you to stay over hoping to salvage a struggling friendship; obviously, that wasn't necessary. Jane, you said I have an ability to reach deep inside you... trust me, it's mutual.” 

After a minute or so spent in meaningful silence as we each digested what the other had said, Jane stood and retook a seat next to me. “I don't want to seem pathetically needy, and I definitely don't want to make you feel awkward, but somehow – even though I swore to myself that I'd never allow myself to be hurt again – I've dropped my defenses and have let you in. I trust you, Daria... but I need assurance... you have to give your word, to promise, that you'll never betray my trust... I don't think I'd survive it.” Jane's pleading eye's matched the tone of her voice as she struggled through the final few words. 

Without hesitation, locking eyes with Jane, I replied “Never. Jane, my word is everything to me and I swear I'll never betray your trust.”

I waited, our gazes still locked, as Jane appeared to contemplate my reply, then after a slight nod of her head and with a small smile growing “That'll do. I know your word is good.” I knitted my brow slightly in confusion, but before I could put voice to my confusion Jane continued “Trent told me about the talk you two had last week. How he'd asked you to keep what he said in confidence. You gave him your word and you kept your word.”

“Oh... Trent asked me not to say anything unless you told me about it yourself. To be honest, Jane, it was bothering me knowing something that you weren't comfortable sharing... I felt like I'd, somehow, invaded your privacy. But, as I said before, my word is all I have; if I were to lose that what would I have left? Trent, believed it was important to tell me: I think he was relieved that you were trying to make a friend. I promised him that I would never hurt you.”

“When Trent told me the next day, I was really miffed at him. All he said was wait and see, Daria seems like a good person.” Jane stood as she said this and after laying down on the roll-away she continued in a furtive voice “I don't know, maybe he just wants me to keep you around so he can get to know you better.” Jane then turned onto her side, facing me, so – I assume – she could gauge my reaction to her statement. After a second or two, and no visible reaction, she went on with “And thinking back to a certain blush you were sporting when you first met him, maybe the feeling's mutual.” 

“Jane, are you aware of the fact that, at times, you're simply incorrigible?“

With a fake pout and in a whiny voice laced with humor, Jane countered “Oh come on, Daria, think about it. Instead of being **_like_** sisters, we could actually **_be_** sisters.”

“Jane, thanks, but no thanks. Dealing with one Lane is more than enough for me. Now, it's almost ten O'clock and knowing your sleep requirements I'd suggest we call it a night.”

“Yeah, you know me too well, Amiga. If I don't get my minimum eight hours, then I'm just plain grumpy in the morning.”

I had already gotten up and said “Okay, goodnight Lane.” as I flicked the light switch off. As I settled back into my bed for the night, Jane answered with a simple “G'night Morgendorffer.” 

To be continued...


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer,** _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

_My most sincere apologies for the lengthy gap between chapters. As a reward, or punishment – it's up to the reader to decide which, I've posted a rather extensive Chapter. Take this as fair warning, after several chapters of Character exposition, I'm finally ready to develop the central theme of the work. If, dear reader, you're of the belief that religion and politics are best never discussed, then better stop here because some will find my views controversial from this point on. As always comments, critiques and criticism are gladly welcome; if, however, one plans to do so using a cudgel all I ask is that it be a small one devoid of sharp spikes._

Chapter 14:

Even with the constant distraction of the events from earlier this morning replaying in my mind, I still finished my final placement test nearly forty minutes sooner than the time allotted. Now setting my pencil aside I had time to finally sit and contemplate what had transpired. We'd all expected for Mom to park the S.U.V. and accompany Jane, Quinn and I into school; however, Mom instead pulled up to the curb directly in front of the main doors and – to my surprise – announced that Jane would be going to work with her for a couple of hours. When I pressed as to why she was delaying the meeting Mom cryptically replied “too soon”. After Jane had gotten out of the middle row of the S.U.V. and was settling into the front passenger seat Mom added, with a nod of her head towards my best Friend, “don't worry, everything will be just fine and Jane – I'm certain – will fill you in on all the details later.” After hesitating a moment more – my hand gripping the still-open door of the vehicle – silently eying alternately between Mom and Jane Mom added, with just a hint of frustration, “Daria, trust me on this. Now, please, close the door and head on inside; otherwise, you'll be late for school.” with that said I closed the door and watched the S.U.V. Pull away. 

Maybe it was only the first time she'd called my name; but, by the good-natured, caught-you grin playing across Mrs. Manson's face it was more likely that three or four times were needed to return me from my musings to the here and now. Once it was clear that she had my attention, Mrs. Manson continued speaking.

“So, Daria, I take it that you didn't find the test, particularly, challenging?”

“No, not at all. And that has me somewhat concerned. Aren't these tests meant to be challenging?”

“Yes, but, Daria, from our testing on Monday, I suspected you'd do quite well. The fact that you're not challenged by the tests is, for you at least, nothing to be concerned about.” The what-do-you-mean look on my face prompted Mrs. Manson to expand on her answer. “It simply means that your innate intelligence, coupled with what must have been a more rigorous academic environment at your previous school place you at a higher scholastic level than these tests were targeted to measure.”

“Oh. Great. Sounds like I should look forward to a wonderfully smooth and easy integration into student life.” 

“You should be more direct, Daria. If your sarcasm had been any more subtle I might have missed your concern.”

“Ha-ha, okay, I guess I deserved that. Honestly, though, how hard do you think it's going to be for me...fitting in here?” 

“Well, Daria, seeing how you've already made one friendship in your short time in Lawndale and that you already have your Sister, Quinn, going to school here, I'd say it should be far easier than you expect.” 

“Yes, you're, probably, right Mrs. Manson. Quinn has been helpful, but she's a class behind me. Jane – what more can I say – Jane's a true Godsend; but she's having her own troubles.”

“It's regrettable, what's happened to Ms. Lane...unfair, actually. I witnessed what happened that morning, I even sent an email to Ms. Li describing, exactly, what I witnessed; unfortunately, Ms. Li still chose to suspend her.” The sincere look on her face showing that not only did she understand completely my concerns, she commiserated with Jane's plight. 

This admission stopped my mind dead in it's tracks. Staring out of the windows, that ran along one wall of Mrs. Manson's office, struggling to make sense out of this information but finding myself instead being distracted by the popping, groaning and whooshing sounds of the wall length electric heating unit slowly coming to life in response to the chill fall morning air, I had to consciously fight back the unbidden but frighteningly satisfying notion that Mom was – possibly at this very moment – raking Ms. Li over the coals for what she'd done to Jane. It took a moment for the realization that Mrs. Manson expected a response to dawn on me. Returning my attention from the view outside back to Mrs. Manson, I took a small breath in through my nose, worked my lips into – what I hoped – was a slight but knowing smile and continued on with our conversation.

“Regrettable, yes.” The 'but for whom the jury may still be out.' I kept to myself. Not for the fact that I doubted Mrs. Manson, but rather for how uncomfortable the idea that Ms. Li might be the one regretting her actions felt to me...it felt good. I silently recited a verse from Proverbs in an attempt to temper the feeling: 'Don't rejoice when your enemy falls; don't let yourself be glad when he stumbles. Otherwise the Lord will observe and disapprove.' I should feel guilty and it was disturbing that I didn't. Needing some time to work through my internal debate, after glancing at the clock, I spoke again:

“Mrs. Manson, it's almost time for lunch, would you mind if I headed to the cafeteria?”

Mrs. Manson looked at her watch to confirm my observation, then nodding her head “Well, it is only five minutes before the bell, I can't see any reason to keep you so go on and get a head start.” 

Collecting my backpack, I thanked Mrs. Manson as I shouldered it and left her office. Having no more than closed the inner office door I returned to my thoughts and in the few steps it took to cover the area of the small waiting room my mind was fully engaged in it's task; so lost in thought – in fact – that, as I exited the waiting area and turned into the hallway, if the sight of two large gray boots directly in my path had not broken my concentration I would have walked straight into someone. Looking up there stood Jane, leaning squarely against the wall, an almost puckish smirk pulling at her lips; apparently, she found the sight of me in my current state of thought to be rather humorous.

“Damn Morgendorffer, You look like you'd just lost your best friend...” Jane began as she pushed herself away from the wall. “...but, as you can see, reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. So cheer up and let's head to lunch, I've got quite a story to tell.”

“No, what you observed was just my Conscious at work, more accurately, it's uncanny ability to force me into distressing internal debates. If you're interested I'll tell you more about that later.” With that said, I continued on my way towards the cafeteria as Jane turned and matched my pace. “Jane, I'm so relieved to see you; so, Mom was good to her word, Ms. Li rescinded the suspension?”

“Oh yeah, that's what I was about to tell you about.” Then with – what was for her – an animated, intense look building on her face Jane recounted the events of her morning.

“First off, Daria, we headed to your Mom's work and spent a couple of hours, her working on some legal stuff and me sketching her doing it, before returning here and going straight to Ms. Li's office. I gotta tell you, at first I was scared but as it played out it became obvious, even to me, that Ms. Li didn't stand a chance against your Mom...remind me to never get on your Mom's bad side, okay?”

“I'll be certain to give fair warning in event of that possibility. So, pray continue.”

“We enter the office and the first thing Ms. Lee says is: “Mrs. Morgendorffer, what are you doing here with Ms. Lane?” Well, your Mom says we're here to discuss my suspension and Ms. Li gets a pissy look on her face and replies that This is highly irregular and even if she was willing to discuss my suspension it wouldn't be with another student's parent. What your Mom did next and Ms. Li's response were priceless, I wish I'd had my camera. Your Mom says: “I'm sorry, perhaps I forgot to mention what I do for a living when I was registering Daria.” Daria, it was a scream, your Mom reaches into her pocket and hands a business card to Ms. Li then says: ”I'm not here as a parent, I'm here to represent Ms. Lane...I'm her legal counsel.” I swear, Ms. Li's eyes widened and her mouth started working but nothing was coming out...she looked just like a fish out of water. It took a moment for her to recover; when she had, she took a seat at her desk and waved at us to sit down as well. Your Mom let Ms. Li bluster about how inappropriate this was without interrupting, she just sat there listening patiently. Then Ms. Li's phone rang and your Mom took a quick look at her watch then smiled at me. That's when I realized this was all carefully planned and she'd been waiting for the phone to ring. Turns out the call was from superintendent Cartwright and after a moment, at the Superintendent's request, Ms. Li puts the call to speaker phone. Daria, the Superintendent addressed Ms. Li as “Ms. Li” but your Mom he called “Helen”, Ms. Li's jaw dropped at that. Long story short, superintendent Cartwright stated how pleased he was that we were all meeting to resolve this unfortunate incident and that he was certain that Ms. Li, now that she had all the facts, would immediately reinstate me and make certain that I had reasonable time to make up any missed assignments. It only took a second for Ms. Li to realize she'd been played and she quickly agreed, the entire time sucking up to superintendent Cartwright for all she was worth. Afterward as we walked to the main entrance, I thanked your Mom and asked how she'd managed to pull it off. She said that I was welcome, smiled and said something to me I didn't understand and then left.”

“What was it she said, Jane?”

“Damn if I know, Three words that all started with a 'V'...sounded like Latin.”

By then we'd reached my locker and as I changed out the contents of my backpack for the afternoon I took a moment to puzzle out what Jane could possibly have been told. It took a moment but when I'd figured it out, I shook my head and chuckled to myself as I faced Jane. 

“It figures that a Lawyer would be quoting Caesar. Jane, did my Mom say “Veni, vidi, vici”?”

“Yeah, that's it. What's it mean?”

“It's a famous quote made by Julius Caesar, and you were right, it is Latin. Supposedly, when a friend asked how Caesar had managed to put down a rather difficult rebellion in one of the provinces, Caesar replied simply: “Veni, vidi, vici” which translates to “I came, I saw, I conquered”. Now that I think about it, what Mom said is really funny seeing how, after meeting her, I realized Ms. Li possessed a rather imperious personality.” Seeing the blank expression on Jane's face “My Mom said that – I'm sure – to sarcastically voice her contempt for what Ms. Li had done to you: It was a dig at how Ms. Li thinks of herself as the Empress of Lawndale High. My Mom quoted the greatest Emperor of all time after she'd just knocked Ms. Li down a couple of pegs.”

“Yeah, I guess, your Mom was being cagey with us so I wouldn't spoil her plan; but, whoa!, when she pulled out that number ten can of whoop ass on Ms. Li it was game over. I mean, I've never seen anyone take such a beat down without a drop of blood being spilled...it was a damn impressive sight to watch.”

Then as we continued to lunch, a sour expression grew on Jane's face “Damn, I didn't pack anything for lunch and I'm really hungry today. Guess I'll have to endure one of the cafeteria culinary delights.” Jane said the final words with a palpable disgust coloring her voice.

“Jane, can I ask you a hypothetical question?”

“Hypothetical? Sure, Daria, shoot.”

“Okay, try to imagine this scenario, A person tells their best friend that they forgot to pack a lunch and – as luck would have it – their friend just happened to have packed an extra sandwich that day...” 

“Daria” Jane said in a tight voice “Why do I think you and I have differing definitions for hypothetical.”

“Possibly, but let me finish the scenario. Do you think asking for a drink and to split a bag of chips would be a fair exchange for the extra sandwich?”

“Okay, hypothetically speaking, are we talking a one day situation or a permanent arrangement?”

“In this scenario, it'd be a permanent arrangement.” I answered cautiously.

“So just what sort of hypothetical sandwich are we imagining here?”

“Smoked Turkey breast with Swiss cheese, tomato and mayonnaise on rye...hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“Well, Daria, I'd say that'd require splitting a hypothetical piece of fruit for dessert, in addition to the drink and chips, in order to be a fair trade. Although, I still think asking a hypothetical friend to make an extra sandwich every day would be unfair, too much of an imposition, as a permanent arrangement.” 

“Jane, you're not going to make this easy for me, are you?” This brought an intriguing little smile to Jane's face, so I took a chance and made my offer. “Look, it takes me no more time to make two sandwiches then it does to make one; but it does require time for me to pack a drink and chips not to mention they more than double the weight of my lunch. Jane, I don't want to make you uncomfortable or to make you feel in any way beholden to me; but, honestly, it'd make life easier for both of us. Please, just consider the possibility.”

“Daria, I'm not a charity case and I do have my pride, but your idea seems fair, let's try it out today and see how it works out.” 

“Fair enough.” With that we entered the cafeteria “I'll leave the choice of chips and fruit to you, but as for my drink I'd like an apple juice. Okay?”

“On it.” Jane said as she headed to the serving line as I headed to our usual table. A couple of minutes later, I was just pulling the bag containing the sandwiches and fixings from my backpack when I sensed someone approaching the table. Thinking it was Jane, I looked up with my mouth open preparing to say 'Wow, Jane, that was quick' when, to my surprise, I saw Jodie along with her boyfriend standing across the table from me.

“Hi, Daria” Jodie said pleasantly enough. The hard glint in her eyes; however, betraying the faux cheerfulness conveyed in her voice. “you'd invited me to break bread with you the other day: Mack and I were wondering if the invitation still held?” Jodie made quotation motions with her fingers as she said the words 'break bread'.

“Well, yes, the invitation's still open; unfortunately, today, I'm already breaking bread with someone else.” I used the same finger motions to bracket 'breaking bread', Lord forgive me, but I found it to be anything but 'unfortunate' that I was able to forestall this invitation.

“Really, with whom? You're by yourself.” Jodie replied, incredulity thick in her voice. Of all the people I've met, She's the one I've found the most difficult not to actively dislike.

“Ahem” Jane grunted clearing phlegm from her throat while simultaneously, forcefully expelling air through her nose. It was an impolite sound perfectly matching her baleful expression. “that'd be me.” Apparently, Jane had walked up just as Jodie was speaking. The shocked, venomous glare Jodie gave Jane in return was not unexpected, Jane had made it clear that there was no love loss between them. What was unexpected was Mike's reaction: he quickly averted his gaze from Jane, in the process, placing his face clearly into my field of view. The pain, guilt, sorrow, that I saw in his eyes were disquieting, disquieting because they matched exactly what I'd seen just the night before in Jane's eyes when she had spoken about Mike. Thankfully, no one else had seen what I had.

“Come on, Mack” Jodie barked as she spun on her heels “I've just lost my appetite.” she spat out before marching away, Mack following a moment later. Jane was setting her tray down, with her back to the door as they exited, so she didn't see Mack turn and quickly look back over his shoulder... those same emotions still displayed in his sad brown eyes. 

At first, Jane said nothing but instead set about opening our bag of corn chips. Once she'd pulled the bag open, she set it front down onto the table – between us – and after using a plastic dinner knife to deftly nick the uppermost point of the opening, she carefully split the side til she'd reached the still sealed end. Then she pulled the sealed end open from the split leaving a rectangular, metallic tinted plastic mat upon which the corn chips rested. The process of transforming the bag into a mat seemed to have a therapeutic effect on Jane. The malevolent expression evident on Jane's face when she'd started had completely vanished.

“I got us corn chips since I thought they'd go better with your apple juice than either pretzels or potato chips.” Than picking up a banana from the tray Jane continued “Also, an apple would be too much with your juice and an orange would taste sour, so, voila, say hello to Mr. Banana.”

“Jane, looks like you put quite a bit of thought into this, I appreciate the concern for my taste buds... a banana was a good choice. Thank you.”

“Oh, Daria, show some respect.” Jane said as she waved the piece of fruit in front of my face. “It's not just a banana, look at the size of it... it's a super-banana.”

“Yes, Jane, it's indeed an august specimen; truly elephantine.” I replied drolly, sometimes I just didn't get Jane's sense of humor.

“That's one of the things I really appreciate about you, Daria.” Jane said – her voice was light and playful but at the same time unmistakeably sincere. As she spoke, she used the back of her right hand to segregate the corn chips to one half of their mat. “Just being around you increases my vocabulary by about ten words a day.” Jane peeled the banana as she spoke. Now holding the peeled fruit in her left hand, Jane reclaimed the plastic knife from the tray and proceeded to slice the banana into twelve bite-sized pieces placing each, as she sliced them, onto the vacated half of the mat. 

Once Jane had indicated – by wiping her hands on a napkin – that the preparations had been completed I offered a blessing over our lunch. Fifteen minutes later – having finished our sandwiches and the chips, and just starting in on the banana – I, finally, felt confident enough in what I'd observed to broach the topic with Jane. 

“Jane, I apologize in advance if what I'm about to say bothers you; but something happened when Jodie and Mike were here earlier; something I saw and need to tell you about.” I took a moment to gauge Jane's reaction, her expression, though now serious was not hostile so I kept going. “Jane, last night when you were telling me about what happened between you, Mike and Jodie I saw some very strong emotions present in your eyes. I felt so helpless, I wanted to offer you some sort of comfort but couldn't find the words... I felt so impotent. You were hurting and I could only sit and watch.”

“Daria, I appreciate that you care and all but how does what I told you last night have anything to do with what happened today?”

“When Jodie and you were staring each other down, Mike turned away for a moment. When he did I had a clear view of his face and what I saw distressed me.”

“Distressed you. How?”

“His eyes, Jane, two pools of conflicted emotions, so sad, distressing to look into. Jane, the emotions were identical to what I saw in your eyes last night.” 

“Oh.” Jane's voice sounded very small.

“Yeah. I, honestly, believed it was important but I'm so inexperienced at this sort of thing.”

“No, you were right to. It doesn't change anything, too much has happened, too much time has past. Knowing what you saw, though, does help answer some things... thanks.”

We spent a moment or two in awkward silence. Then, just as I'd decided to apologize for spoiling the mood, Jane grabbed a piece of the banana, popped it in her mouth and started chewing. As Jane swallowed a small, mischievous smirk pulling on her lips, she broke the silence. “Come on, Daria, dig in; Mr. Banana ain't goin' to eat himself.” 

“If you insist.” I said taking a piece. When the bell sounded a few minutes later, we'd already finished up and cleared the table. As we stood to leave, Jane said: “hold on a second, Daria, I almost forgot to tell you, your Mom said to not go to see Ms. Li this afternoon without her. You're to wait by the main entrance for her when school lets out and then you'll go together.”

“Okay, Jane, thanks. It seems unnecessary, I'm only going to get my permanent class schedule.”

“Dunno, your Mom made it seem like it was important. I'd be happy to wait with you.”

“Alright, it certainly couldn't hurt having Mom there.” I said as I moved away from the table. “We'd better get moving or we'll be late for Gym.”

Later that afternoon, after the final bell had rung, I headed to the main entrance and, just before reaching the doors, met up with Jane coming from the opposite direction. Together we walked outside and stood watch for my Mom. It didn't take long, for no sooner had I turned to look towards the parking lot then I saw Mom approaching along the sidewalk. 

“Hail Caesar.” I said as mom came up to Jane and I. “Ready to suppress another uprising?”

“I hope that won't be necessary, Sweetie, let's just say I didn't have a very good feeling about Ms. Li after our meeting this morning. I'm sure Jane filled you in about it, and Jane I'm impressed that you got my little parting shot.” 

“Sure, Mrs. M, thanks.” Jane answered without the slightest compunction. Than looking at me “Daria, good luck, if you don't mind I'd like to wait for you. I'm curious to hear how your meeting with commandant Li went.

“No problem, Jane, thanks. Where should we meet you?” 

“How about the Art room. Ms Defoe usually stays late and I'd like to run an idea for my next project by her.” At that Mom motioned towards the doors and together we headed inside, Jane to Ms. Defoe's room and us to the main offices. Once in the main office, we were immediately met by Ms. Li's who ushered us quickly into her private office. After we were all seated, Ms. Li started the conversation.

“Thank you for coming Ms. Morgendorffer, Mrs. Morgendorffer. I've had some time to access the results of this weeks testing and I have to say I'm rather confused.”

“Confused? How so, Ms. Li?” My Mom asked bluntly.

“Confused, as in why is your Daughter here, Mrs. Morgendorffer. All of her test scores were well above twelfth grade level. She should be studying at a university not tooling around at my High School.”

“Ms. Li, what are you suggesting?” 

“I'm not suggesting anything, Mrs. Morgendorffer, I **_intend,_** based on the results of her test scores, to sign all the State paperwork necessary for certification, issue, Daria, her diploma and immediately graduate her. Like I said before, she belongs at the collegiate level.”

“Ms. Li, this is absurd. You can't be serious!” 

“Mrs. Morgendorffer, do you know her I.Q. score?” when Mom shook her head no, Ms. Li continued “its one hundred and sixty eight! That's three standard deviations above normal. Your Daughter wouldn't be challenged, in the least, by the curriculum; actually, I'm certain she'd be bored to distraction. And with her intelligence, that would only lead to trouble. No, it's best for all concerned this way.” 

“You can try, Ms. Li, it would only be an exercise in futility on your part.” Mom said. Then scooting forward – so that she was now seated on the very edge of her seat – and leaning forward, closing the distance between herself and Ms. Li, a menacing glare on her face. “After all the legal motions, continuances and appeals, by the time it's all over, Daria will be well into her twenties.”

“That sounds like your style, using scurrilous legal wrangling when you have no argument.” Ms. Li retorted.

“Better than letting you punish my Daughter for having you pulled on the carpet for abusing her friends rights!” Mom barked back.

 **“No!!!”** I'd yelled the word so loudly – in fact, I'd nearly screamed it – that both Mom and Ms. Li had stopped their arguing and were, instead, staring at me in stunned silence.

“No.” I repeated, but much less loudly. “Ms. Li, I understand your position; but, with all due respect, I believe you're wrong when you say this school has nothing to offer me.” Ms. Li's expression turned from shocked to disbelieving, but she made no attempt to interrupt me. “Ms. Li, I've spent most of my life isolated behind a protective shell, an introvert, content to exercise my mind while eschewing social interaction. By the time I'd realized how alienated I'd become, it was too late, no one was interested in making the effort to get to know me and I was too scared of rejection to reach out. Here, incredibly, I've found the strength to step out from behind my shell and in doing so I've made the first real friendship of my life. But, in the process, I've also realized just how socially inept and inexperienced I actually am. Please, Ms. Li, if you do what you're intending I'll be thrown out into the world without the interpersonal skills necessary to succeed. I won't be able to cope, I'll retreat again into my shell and, frankly, that thought terrifies me.”

Ms. Li was still looking in my direction but no longer at me; rather she seemed to be focused at some point well behind me lost in thought. Several uncomfortable seconds passed in silence, before Ms. Li – after removing her glasses from her face, messaging the bridge of her nose and then replacing her glasses – sighed tiredly and responded. “Very well, Ms. Morgendorffer, perhaps there is a way to harness your potential for the honor and glory of Laaawndale High.” The near religious reverence that Ms. Li imbued the words 'Lawndale High' with was unnerving. “However, Ms. Morgendorffer, I must insist on some conditions.” My look at Mom for guidance was answered with a reassuring smile and a nod of her head. Then returning her attention back to Ms. Li, Mom asked the obvious question for me.

“What sort of conditions are you suggesting?”

“Simply put: I'll expect nothing short of academic excellence from you, Ms. Morgendorffer, anything less than 'A' level work will be considered unacceptable. Also, taking into consideration your self-confessed inexperience interacting with your fellow students, I'm insisting that you – at all times – are involved in at least three extra-curricular activities. These can be clubs, sports, societies or student-run functions of the school; honestly, I don't care which you choose but you must be actively involved in three at all times. Understood?”

“Totally. Ms. Li, is there a list somewhere? I have no idea what's available.”

“Yes, Ms. Morgendorffer, there's a bulletin board outside the cafeteria, where you can view your options and find out who to contact to join. But, if you're interested, I could suggest a position for which your intellectual prowess is perfectly suited.” The grin on Ms. Li's face made it quite clear that she would be extremely displeased if I chose not to accept her 'suggestion'. 

“Yes?” 

“Well, it seems that the current Editor of the school newspaper has come to me and conveyed her desire to resign her position if a suitable replacement could be found. I believe, that you, Ms. Morgendorffer, would make an excellent Editor for our school newspaper... the Laaawndale Lowdown.” 

Understanding, explicitly, that accepting the offer meant accepting her conditions – conditions I had absolutely no reservations about – I looked at Mom once again for guidance. Mom was quick with her advice. “Although Ms. Li and I have not seen eye-to-eye on much of anything today, I must admit that I'm in complete agreement with her on this one. In the end, However, Sweetie, the choice is yours to make.” 

“Thank you, Ms. Li, looks like I've just joined the forth estate.”

“Kudos, Ms. Morgendorffer. Come by my office after school on Monday and I'll explain everything to you, set you up with what you'll need and introduce you to the staff that will be working under your direction.” Ten minutes later, after setting my permanent schedule, Mom and I were leaving the main office en route to to the Art room. Thankfully, we were able to schedule Math, History, Science and English for periods one through four allowing me to keep my current afternoon schedule intact. 

Arriving at Ms. Defoe's classroom, noticing Jane speaking with Ms. Defoe at her desk, we waited quietly by the doorway. Jane spotted us and after quickly saying her goodbyes came out to join us.

“So” Jane said once she had reached Mom and I “how'd it go? You were there an awful long time.”

“Everything went fine, Jane, once she stopped trying to slide me the old sheepskin and insist that I prematurely matriculate somewhere.” I responded tiredly.

“Since your Mom was with you, what you just said can't mean what it sounded like to me; otherwise, I'll need to add the words sick and perverted to evil and depraved whenever I'm describing Ms. Li.”

“Sweetie” Mom chocked out, vainly attempting to hold back giggles. “I don't think I could have crafted a sentence so loaded with double entendre if I had an hour to do it.” 

“What do you mean, Mom?” I asked, totally confused. Seeing my befuddlement caused not just Mom but Jane also to break out – not in giggles – but into full-blown laughter. It took a full minute before Jane had calmed herself down enough to finally speak.

“Daria, if you could see the look on your face...” Jane had to pause for a moment, still not fully able to contain her laughter. “...please, could you translate what you just said in a way your non-genius friend can understand.” 

“Alright, let's try this, Ms. Li was about to sign my diploma and force me to graduate today.”

“You're kidding me?” 

“No, Ms. Li was insistent. That was until Mom intervened; however, in order to stay here, I had to promise to join and participate in at least three extra-curricular activities.” 

“Wait... let me get this straight...” Jane said with obvious concern, all traces of humor – there only a moment before – completely gone. “...Commandant Li was ready to give you a one-way ticket out of this hell hole and you turned it down. Why?”

“There's so much more you and this school have left to teach me, that's why, Jane.”

“Daria, you're delusional if you think there's anything this dump can teach you. And if you think that you need me to lead you to some sort of freakin' knowledge, then you've really got it backwards... it's me that needs to follow you if I hope to learn anything here.”

“Jane, my whole life I've read, studied, pursued academic excellence at the cost of everything else. Maybe that's made me smart – but looking back I'm not so sure; because, in the end it also left me lonely and alienated. I've read several Philosophers, hoping to learn about life - Camus is one of my favorites; unfortunately, because I had never made the attempt to build relationships with others, I missed the true genius, the beauty in his words. Now, because of you, Jane, I get it, I can see what Camus meant when he wrote: “Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend.””

“ugh... I think I can do that” Jane said meekly, then as more of what I'd said sunk in, her eyes widened and she asked emphatically “Wait, what was that about **three** extra-curriculars?”

“After explaining how I needed to improve my inter-personal relations skills, Ms. Li made that a condition... She's already found one for me. Now, I just need to find that board she mentioned and choose two more.”

“That'd be the one down past the cafeteria, Come on, I'll show you where it is.” 

Looking from Jane to Mom, “Mom, do we have time to look now?”

“I do need to get back to the office, but since I'll probably be most of the evening making up for the time I've spent here today I guess a few more minutes won't matter. Go on, I'll be in the car waiting, just don't take too long, okay?”

“Thanks, Mom, we'll hurry.”

As we headed off in the direction of the cafeteria, Jane and I continued our conversation. After we'd walked most of the way – curiosity piqued – Jane asked, “So, I'm curious, what activity did Ms. Li manage to rope you into?”

“I start next week as the Editor of the school newspaper. Ms. Li said the current Editor had asked to step down.” 

“Figures,” Jane said with animus “Jodie Landon is the Editor. Guess one year's enough to pad her transcript.”

“Well, her loss, my gain; actually, I'm kind of looking forward to the challenge.” As I said that a thought struck me “Hey, Jane, would you possibly be interested in contributing some art work for the paper?”

“I don't know, Daria, maybe... let me think it over, okay?” A moment later, Jane stopped and pointed with a flick of her thumb to a large bulletin board beside her. “There you go, Morgendorffer...” She said, that now-all-too-familiar, impish smirk playing on her face. “...knock yourself out.”

I scanned the board, considering the options. A few, the French and Drama clubs in particular, stood out as possibilities and the peer tutoring as a definite. Rescanning the board I noticed a club that was identified only by it's initials – L.H.G.S.A. “Jane, do you know what L.H.G.S.A. stands for?” pointing at the flyer. 

Jane looked at me carefully before answering matter-of-factly, “That club wouldn't interest you, Daria.” With my prolonged stare as indication that she'd yet to answer my question, Jane sighed slightly and continued, “That's the Lawndale High Gay Straight Alliance.”

“Okay, thanks.” I replied “I've got some ideas, if you're ready, let's go meet Mom.” 

We'd walked about half of the way to the main entrance, when Jane asked, “I know they say that curiosity killed the cat, but – what the hell – I need to ask you: what _do_ you think about the L.H.G.S.A.?” Although Jane was trying to sound casual as she asked, it was easy to see – even for me – her uneasiness. 

“I think that any club that encourages understanding, respect and tolerance is a very good thing.” 

“I have to admit, Daria, that wasn't the answer I expected. So, let's go for broke, if you see nothing wrong with the L.H.G.S.A., then how do you feel about homosexuality?”

“Hmm, I really don't feel anything about homosexuality.”

“Jeez, Daria, could you try and be more evasive? You must have an opinion, a view on the subject.” Jane stated with more then a touch of exasperation.

“No more of an opinion than I would of heterosexuality.” With that said I stopped and waited for Jane to turn and face me. Then looking her squarely in the face, with slightly raised eyebrows, I asked her in a conspiratorial voice, “Jane,... are you trying to tell me something?”

“What?” Jane answered, confusion obvious on her face. Then as realization of what I'd asked dawned, “No, Daria, I wasn't asking for myself... I like guys. All I wanted to find out was your view on homosexuality. You'd be surprised by which of our fellow students are homosexuals, that's all, and I didn't want you to find yourself in any uncomfortable situations.” 

“I try to love my neighbor as I do myself, to treat everyone with the same level of dignity and respect.” 

“So, just for curiosities sake, let's say I was; would that effect our friendship?”

“Not in the least, Jane. I'd be uncomfortable, totally disagree with and certainly let you know it, if you manifested your sexuality in a lewd or sexually immoral manner; but that would stand whether you were homosexual or heterosexual.”

“Wow, my fundamental, Bible quoting best friend is deep down a progressive thinker... who'd have thunk it.”

“I'll take that as the compliment you, surely intended it to be.”

“Your quite welcome.”

“Just one thing, Jane.”

“Si, mi Amiga?”

“Your certain, you weren't trying to tell me something?” I said with faux earnestness, as we neared Mom's SUV; the expression on my face, however, betrayed the fact that I was only joking. 

“Bite me, Morgendorffer.” Jane replied, with a chuckle.

“Thanks, but no thanks. There's not enough meat on those bones to make it worth my while.” I responded as I opened the rear passenger door and scooted across the bench seat to make room for Jane.

Jane's only response was a grunted “Hmpf” in mock annoyance as she followed me into the SUV. Then, while buckling her seat belt, Jane asked my Mom, “Mrs. M, if you were a cannibal would you think I was too skinny to make a decent meal?”

The question was so bizarre that Mom turned in her seat so she could look Jane in the face. Then, after a moment, the quizzical look on Mom's face faded away and with a quiet snicker Mom declared, “I swear, Jane, you kids today. Is this all about some sort of Halloween costume?” 

“No, not really. I'd told Daria to bite me and she had the nerve to say I was too skinny to be worth biting... I was just looking for a second opinion. But now that you mention it, I could fix up my old Jason mask and we could use the refrigerator dolly in my garage, Daria and I could go as Clarice and Hannibal. What about it Daria, are you up for a little trick-or-treating today?” 

“Halloween? Oh, that's right, today's the thirty-first. Aren't we a little old for trick-or-treating?”

“Technically, no. But I get your point, seeing that I haven't gone myself since I was twelve.”

“Sweetie...” Mom said once we'd left the parking lot and were heading towards Jane's house. “I was curious, when did you stop trick-or-treating?”

“I haven't gone since back in Highland.” 

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, “Any particular reason why?” Mom asked cautiously.

“Not really, The Community back in Idaho didn't discourage trick-or-treating, but with the distances between settlements it just wasn't practicable; instead, they'd throw a big party where all the families got together. There'd be games, bobbing for apples... that sort of thing.”

“Well, this is our first Halloween in Lawndale, if it's anything like back in Highland we'll have plenty of visitors this evening. Normally, I'd help your Father hand out the candy but I've got a ton of work waiting for me at the office. He'll just have to manage by himself tonight.” Mom said as we pulled up in front of Jane's house. 

“So, Jane, what are you planning for tonight?” I asked as Jane opened the door.

“Painting. My Muse returned earlier today and I'm probably going to be up most of the night satisfying her.” Jane replied as she slid off the seat. Then as she turned to close the door, “But feel free to call me later on, if you want... just make it after ten, okay? By then, hopefully my Muse will be ready for a break.” After saying our goodbyes, Jane shut the door and headed up the walkway. 

Moments later, after being quickly dropped off by Mom, I found Dad in the living room, a large basket of assorted candy by his side, awaiting the evening's first trick-or-treaters. “Hey, Kiddo...” Dad said, obviously surprised to see me home. “...wasn't expecting anyone home til later. Quinn said she'd be at Stacey's tonight and after talking with your Mother I figured you'd be with Jane.”

“No, Jane plans to spend the night working on a painting, and she's best left undisturbed when Inspiration strikes, So I guess it's just you and me tonight, Dad.”

“You're not planning on trick-or-treating?” Dad asked, then added with a touch of embarrassment in his voice, “No, I guess you're a bit old for that now...sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, Dad. If you don't mind the company, I'll help hand out the treats.” I said as I took a seat, motioning to the basket now separating us. Then I asked casually, “Did you have any plans for dinner?”

“No, not at all, glad to have the company... I'll order a pizza later, for us, if that's okay with you, Kiddo?”

“We could do that, but if you don't mind I'd be just as happy heating up some soup and making sandwiches. We could eat off tray tables here in the living room.”

“That would be easier, sure you don't mind?”

“No, glad to do it. Just let me go upstairs and change.” 

Fifteen minutes later, the sandwiches sat ready on their plates along side sizable mounds of barbeque potato chips just waiting for the tomato soup heating on the stove top. The doorbell had rung frequently while I was in the kitchen, but somehow Dad had managed to satisfy the throng of costumed visitors and still find time to retrieve and set up the tray tables. Carrying the lightly steaming bowls of soup into the living room, a few minutes later, I was struck by how much candy had been handed out in the previous twenty-or-so minutes. Setting the soup on the tray tables I couldn't help but stare at the basket and wonder how at least a third of it's contents could be missing. Returning a moment later with the sandwiches my wondering was put to rest: there was Dad, once again, at the door happily dispensing treats to a jostling conglomeration of ghosts, pirates, vampires and assorted superheros… it was a crowd numbering at least twenty. After Dad had finished, we started eating and were, thankfully, able to eat with only limited interruptions. 

I'd just taken the empty bowls and plates into the kitchen and was returning to the living room when Dad asked, "So, Kiddo, How'd you like your first week here in Lawndale?” 

“Actually, Dad, I've been so busy it's really hard to say; definitely interesting, but considering everything I'm pleasantly optimistic.” After that we sat and talked in between alternating trips to satisfy the constant flow of trick-or-treaters. Just before eight, the candy finally ran out and Dad, somewhat reluctantly, switched off the porch light. Wanting to get prepared for the next days eyeglass hunting adventure, I waited until Dad was fully engrossed in his newspaper then said my good nights and headed to my room. 

Mom and I were heading home after picking up my new glasses, it was a little past two in the afternoon on Sunday, and I couldn't help but chuckle as I thought back to the events of the previous morning. Quinn and Jane – as well meaning as their intentions might have been – couldn't have had offered worse choices in eye wear. Quinn had been pushing styles that were in her own words 'the sexy librarian look' while Jane attempted to find an artistically valid expression of my inner self. Studying the semi-rimless lenses in my hands with their bow shaped metal top piece in a deep bronze hue that almost perfectly matched my eye color and gold toned stems carved out with an intricate filigree, imparting both a delicate airy look as well as reducing the weight, making them incredibly comfortable to wear: I couldn't have been more satisfied with my choice. The fact that Mom had suggested them as both stylish and artistically crafted as well as, in her opinion, perfectly suited to my face had ended all discussion on the matter. Placing the glasses into their case and closing it with a snap, I returned my attention to the unfamiliar neighborhood we were driving through. 

As we passed a Church I was dismayed by what was written on the message board: 'Romans 1:26-27 – a simple translation for homosexuals: God hates you!'

“What do you think about that?” Asked Mom, a moment later, in a deliberately measured tone.

“I'm sorry, about what?” I answered, still shaken by the sign's message.

“About what that Church, we just passed, had on their message board.” 

“That it's wrong.” I answered simply.

“Yes, it is.” Mom stated quite forcefully “No matter what the Bible might say, people shouldn't quote it in such an inflammatory manner just to insult those that don't agree with their way of life.”

“No, Mom, I didn't mean it like that...”

“Then what do you mean?” Mom snapped back, more forcefully, almost accusingly as she interrupted my answer.

“That Romans speaks to nothing even remotely close to what was on that message board... that, from my study of Paul's letters and my beliefs as a Christian, this Church's interpretation is completely erroneous.” 

“Oh...” Mom said carefully “...then how do feel about the message itself?”

It took a second for me to understand what, exactly, Mom was asking; but once I realized, the answer came out automatically. “Déjà vu.” 

“I'm sorry,” Mom replied, obviously startled by my answer “ Déjà vu?”

“Jane, asked me almost the same question on Friday.” A hint of the exasperation now welling inside me coloring my reply. There was something going on here, something more than Mom or Jane were letting on to.

“Why would Jane have asked you about this?”

“When we were checking out possible extra-curricular activities for me, I saw a sign up sheet that was titled simply 'L.H.G.S.A.' I asked Jane and she decrypted the acronym for me as the Lawndale High Gay Straight alliance, she then asked me how I felt about homosexuality. I told her and then asked her why she wanted to know; all she would say to the matter was that 'you'd be surprised by which of our fellow students are homosexuals'. Now, Mom, you're asking me the same thing and that's got me thinking that there's something more than simple curiosity... What's going on, Mom.”

Mom was silent for several seconds before answering in an a slightly anxious but at the same time resigned voice. “Daria, yes, there's more to it... look, we're nearly home, can we pick this conversation back up then?”

“Absolutely, I'm tired of being treated like a mushroom.” 

“A mushroom?”

“It's one of Mr. Davidson's sayings, whenever someone would try and hide something from him, he'd say – 'don't treat me like a mushroom.' then he'd explain it as being kept in the dark and fed nothing but poop.”

“Okay, fair enough.” And with that said we spent the remaining trip home in silence.

Mom made it from the car only as far as the kitchen table before dropping heavily onto a chair and motioning for me to join her. As I took a seat across the table from her, Mom looked me full in the eye and, in a voice as serious as I'd ever heard her use, resumed the talk.

“Daria, I need to know your honest feelings about homosexuality.” It wasn't a question, but there was no doubt, from Mom's unwavering gaze, that an answer was expected.

“Mom, I'll tell you exactly what I told Jane: my feelings about homosexuality are no different than my feelings about heterosexuality, I believe both are natural.”

“An interesting answer, Daria, but – I know from my time living in the Bible belt – not a commonly held belief among fundamentalists. So tell me more about your beliefs.”

“My beliefs did tend to be among the most liberal of the community back in Idaho and, yes, my belief that homosexuality is a natural orientation was, to put it mildly, unpopular; however, I'm convinced that my beliefs are totally supported by a thorough study of the Scriptures. As a matter of fact, I believe one must take an extremely simplistic, subjective and selective view of the Scriptures to think otherwise.”

“Care to give me some examples?”

“I could quote dozens of verses to support my beliefs; but, Mom, honestly do you know the Scriptures well enough to tell if my argument is valid?” When Mom didn't answer I decided to take a different tack. “Mom, do you know how many verses are in the Christian Bible?” Mom shook her head 'no'. “over thirty-one thousand. Do you have any idea how many are cited to attack homosexuality?” Again Mom shook her head 'no' “about a half dozen.”

“What!” Good, that got Mom's attention.

“Yes, and what's more disconcerting is that there are valid issues concerning the translation of several of those six verses. And if that isn't enough of an argument, consider this, the same type of cherry picking of verses from the Bible was used to defend slavery in the decades leading up to the civil war and to defend denying women the right to vote in the first decades of the twentieth century. Both times the selective use of the Scriptures was proven wrong and I believe in my heart of hearts that it's wrong now.” 

“When I asked you about that Church's message you said it was wrong. How, specifically?”

“It is completely at odds with Jesus' ministry. Again I could quote dozens of verses from the Gospels as well as the letters, but 1 John:4:20 might put it best: “ If anyone says, "I love God," and hates his brother, he is a liar, for the one who does not love his brother whom he has seen is not able to love God whom he has not seen. And this is the commandment we have from him: that the one who loves God should love his brother also.”

“Daria, I find it hard to believe that a religion would - almost universally - condemn something like homosexuality if the evidence were so suspect that a teenager could dismantle it.”

“Well, there's also the issue with the physical component. Since most Christians believe that sex is only morally permissible within the covenant of Marriage and that Marriage can only exist between one Man and one Woman, then the physical part of a homosexual relationship is fornication, sexually immoral and, therefore, a sin. It's a convenient argument and much easier to defend, Biblically; but I still believe it to be seriously flawed.”

“Okay, how do you believe it's a flawed argument?”

“Mom, why is this, out of all the possible theological discussions we could be having, so important? I'm not totally comfortable with the direction this discussion has gone; It's not like I can speak from experience.” Mom said nothing in reply; but her continued, steady gaze, however, had it's desired effect. “Fine. First, the argument implies that Marriage is the only possible relationship two people can have. Marriage, at the time the Scriptures were written, was a contract meant to transfer possession of property, i.e. the Woman, from the Father to the Husband and to grant legitimacy to their offspring. These are the concerns of a patriarchal, misogynistic society so far removed from our reality that they insult our beliefs in equality and justice. Second, I believe – and I hope you appreciate how uncomfortable discussing this intimate a subject makes me feel – that the term 'fornication' has more to do with describing lustful, selfish, sexual pleasure, than the unitive, sharing of one's body that is a vital part of any loving, committed, monogamous relationship. Much of the Scriptures are universal never-changing truths, other parts, however, reflect the societal mores of the time that they were written and have to be interpreted with that fact in mind. I guess, to put it in a nut shell, if homosexuality were the terrible sin that some profess it to be, then the Bible would reflect that fact... there'd be an eleventh Commandment or at least multiple, unequivocal verses condemning it.” When I'd finished my cheeks were flushed from embarrassment as well as frustration. 

“Daria, Sweetie, I do appreciate how difficult this has been for you and, yes, it is important for me to know, exactly, you're beliefs on the matter. A Mother can never be too protective when it comes to her children.” 

“Mom, what is that supposed to mean? I know that there's a lot...” My mouth stopped lips formed to speak but no breath came to voice the words, my chest had simply froze, as the revelation conveyed in that simple statement broke through. Mom's steady gaze was still upon me trying to gauge my reaction, carefully awaiting my reply. When my expression went from dazed to hurt to accusing, Mom made to speak but I jumped in forcefully, “You lied to me!”

“Daria, How have I lied to you?” Mom asked, visibly shaken by the accusation.

“Since the first day home, I'd noticed a reticence towards me from Quinn. I've asked you at least three times about it and you said it was nothing. You knew all along what the issue was and you said it was nothing! You lied to me, Mom.” 

“Daria, please, I was only buying time to see if you could handle this without causing any pain to Quinn or damage to your relationship with her. “outing” a person is generally considered an offensive action and, honestly, the choice of when or if to tell you should have been your Sister's not mine; however, when you returned to us with such strong religious convictions, it was obvious that Quinn simply couldn't bear the possibility of you not accepting her. For all her outward strength and confidence, Quinn is extremely vulnerable and shy when it comes to her sexuality. She hasn't even come out to your Father or me, yet.

“Excuse me, but how are you so certain about Quinn if she hasn't told you?” 

“Sweetie, I'm her Mother; I might seem preoccupied but, trust me, there was no way to miss the signs.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since back in Highland. Quinn had just turned thirteen, we'd be out shopping or having a meal together somewhere, and I'd notice her looking. At first I thought she was just comparing fashions, but the length of the stares, the way she'd be looking at the girls – checking them out, so to speak – and the fact that I never once saw her checking out any boys were dead giveaways. Since, she only showed interest in age-appropriate girls and wasn't pursuing them, but only curious, I decided to wait until Quinn was comfortable enough with her sexuality to come to me.”

“Okay, I can understand this to a point, I've actively tried and continue to try to rebuild as strong a relationship with Quinn as possible. I've told her repeatedly that I love her unconditionally and nothing that you've told me has changed that. Mom, how can I convince her that I support her and love her unconditionally because of my Faith, not in spite of it?”

“By being there by her side, letting your actions speak for you. I'd hoped that Quinn would have spoken to me before she'd met someone, before she entered her first relationship; but, thankfully, Stacey's a sweet and decent young Lady. They both seem content to focus on the emotional part of their relationship, for now, so I've not interfered. But looking forward, I'm concerned for them and know that your love and support will become crucially important to Quinn.”

“That I can do. But, why do you think that there'll be trouble ahead for them?”

“Because of that awful message we saw earlier. Stacey and her Family belong to that Church.” 

 

To be continued...


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer,** _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

Chapter 15:

It had been several hours since my talk with Mom, and in those intervening hours I'd made the decision three times to call Jane and confront her over her choice to leave me in the dark concerning Quinn; however, each time, as I held the receiver in my hand my finger at the ready to dial Jane's number, I realized that I was not yet ready to have this talk. Finally, after the third failed attempt, it became clear that in order to do this properly it needed to be in person; so, wrapped tightly in my heaviest coat, attempting to ward off the chill of an early November sunset, I began my walk to Jane's house. Once again it required several unrestrained kicks to Jane's front door before the the sounds of someone approaching from the other side of the door could be heard; Thankfully, it was Jane who answered the door.

“Amiga?” Jane asked, clearly surprised by my presence, “what are you doing here?” then noticing the serious, steely glint in my eyes “is everything okay?”

“Mostly.” I stated evenly as I entered the house. “Jane when we spoke after school on Friday, was there something that you neglected to tell me?” A vacant stare was Jane's only reply, so I continued with, “concerning Quinn, perchance?”

“No.” Jane answered firmly, her eyes, though, clearly reflected that she was worried. “If you're referring to what I think, Daria, than the only person who should be telling you would be Quinn... It wasn't my place then and it's not now.”

“Jane, everyone has been keeping an irrelevant, but still important, fact from me out of some perceived fear that I couldn't handle it or that I'd somehow act out against Quinn. You, my best Friend, didn't trust me enough to give me a simple heads up that would have allowed me to end my Sister's distress... and that hurts.”

“Daria, honestly, I'd hope you know me well enough to realize this has nothing to do with trust.” Jane tried to appear calm but my questioning her trust in me was clearly a sore point. “There aren't many topics I consider off limits, but outing someone [b][i]is[/i][/b] one of them. Daria, I'm sorry if my not letting on hurt you; but, this is Quinn's business. Outing a person is very disrespectful and uncaring... no, actually it's more than that, it's a truly ugly thing to do.”

“I wonder what else everyone's been keeping from me?” The moment the words left my mouth I'd regretted saying them. Jane stayed quiet for a moment, her face contorting with anger, then after crossing her arms tightly in front of her she ripped into me.

“What the hell, Daria! That was mean and uncalled for. Do you think that no one but you possess convictions that force them to make tough decisions?”

“No.” I stared silently at Jane. I was quite conflicted emotionally, I was sorry for saying such a childish thing; but, at the same time, I also felt no compunction to apologize for having said it. Needing time to think I added: “Maybe it'd be better if I just left.” 

“Bullshit! Don't you dare think you can waltz over here, accuse me of not trusting you, then of hiding things from you, piss me off royally and then walk away.” By this point, Jane was glaring furiously at me, her hands were by her sides and balled so tightly into fists that they shook. 

Dear Lord, what have I done? Saying those words were like a match to gasoline: at least I was no longer conflicted emotionally. Humbled and remorseful for having so angered my Friend, I apologized, being certain my voice and body language conveyed my earnest regret. “Look, Jane, what I said was childish and irresponsible and for that I'm sorry; but Quinn's not a classmate or a casual friend... she's my Sister, my only Sister, and I've already lost so much time with her... Believe me, Jane, I respect your convictions.”

“Yeah, well maybe I did assume that you'd automatically condemn homosexuality.” Jane conceded, her anger calming slightly. “But bear in mind, it wasn't just me, from what you're saying, your Sister and your Mom had the same concerns. Hell, Daria, Friday was the first opportunity where I felt comfortable enough to even ask.” Jane exhaled loudly, took a moment to compose herself, then continued with a sad tinge in her voice: “Honestly, I was worried you'd just confirm my worst fears.”

“And, at the time, I didn't think it was anything more than curiosity on your part. When Mom asked me the same questions today, however, I knew something else was up. I pushed the issue and Mom went into full-blown lawyer interrogation mode. In the end, though, I got my answer... Now all I need to do is figure out how to approach Quinn.”

“Daria, just be patient, when Quinn feels comfortable enough, she'll tell you. To be honest, I'm really surprised that she'd already come out to your Mom.”

“She hasn't. Mom said that to her the signs were obvious. That leaves me wondering, Jane, did Quinn confide in you or were the signs obvious to you, too?”

“When your Sister and Stacy started hanging out together, maybe they thought they were being discreet but I had no trouble reading the body language. I brought it up with Quinn in Art one day; mentioned that I thought it was cute how they were trying to keep their relationship a secret.”

“How did Quinn react?”

“First she tried to deny it. When she realized I wasn't buying her story she got really hostile and warned me not to tell anyone. I told her that what they did didn't matter to me in the least, that I certainly wasn't going to tell anyone and that they had my support if they wanted it.” 

“Okay, what happened then?”

“Quinn didn't speak to me for a few weeks, completely ignored me, she only started speaking to me again after you arrived.”

“Well, that explains things Quinn said the first few days I was back home.” The last remark simply left Jane looking inquisitively at me with one eyebrow cocked and an unmistakable 'care to expand on that comment' look in her eyes. “Jane, sorry, I hadn't meant to say that out loud; let's just say she made some unflattering comments and leave it at that. Okay?” 

“She tried to convince you to stay away from me, didn't she? Guess she was afraid I'd let something slip. Seeing the tightrope she and Stacy have been walking with Stacy's Family I can't really blame her.” 

“Oh, so you know about that?”

“Yeah, that Church Stacy's Family goes to are serious homophobes; makes the Westboro Baptists look kind of tame.” 

“That seems to be the general consensus.” I answered now more than a little ashamed of how I'd misjudged Jane's motives. ”Oh, Jane, should I be worried that both you and my Mom gave me almost identical advice concerning Quinn?”

“Other than it being an almost certain sign that the Apocalypse is near, no, Daria, nothing to worry about at all.”

“And you think that saying nothing is the right thing for me to do?”

“Yes, I do. If you go to Quinn before she's ready she might deny it out of fear.” Seeing that I was still not comfortable with that course of action, Jane gave me a reassuring smile before saying: “Look, if we're all together, and I can find an opportunity to, I'll bring things up in conversation that'll let you say how you feel.”

“Being proactive would definitely make me more comfortable, Jane, thank you.” Now very embarrassed for how I'd accused Jane. “I shouldn't have said the things I did, I was upset and frustrated and, Jane, I know those are weak excuses and I'm sorry... I'm really, really sorry... are we okay?”

“Yeah, were good. I was really mad, but, meh, the more I think about it you had every right to be upset. If someone had been keeping something about Trent from me I'd have been like a screaming Banshee, slowly reducing the unfortunate fool's life to a hellish nightmare.”

“Okay... thanks, a lot, for that wonderful mental image. Somehow, that makes me feel a bit better. Heh, Jane, what do you say I order a pizza to make up for everything?”

“Not tonight, Okay, my muse is still demanding my attention, I'll probably be painting well into the night. You're still stopping by tomorrow morning, right?”

“Yeah, Mom did tell us I could start walking to school; so I'll be here bright and early. What time will you be ready?”

“Twenty after seven will be fine. No earlier than that, please, I'm not much of a morning person.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I said as I made my way to the front door. “Well, Jane, I'll leave you to your Muse's whim. Thanks again for tolerating me.” 

“Eh, don't worry about it. I'm sorry for tossing you out like this but I promise I'll be better company tomorrow.”

The next morning, Jane, true to her word was ready at seven-twenty and we spent the walk to school discussing what I should expect from my first full day of classes. To my relief we shared homeroom as well as first period History and fourth period English together. Jane had gone to great detail describing the teachers of the two classes we shared and I, honestly, thought she'd been pulling my leg. As I sat in our first period class, however, observing my new History Teacher, Mr. DeMartino, it became immediately clear that Jane's description had been uncannily accurate. 

“Class, **WE'VE** been dis **CUSS** ing the civil **WAR** for more than a **WEEK** and **IF** the re **SULTS** of last **FRI** day's quiz are any indi **CA** tion, you are, as a **CLASS,** well on your **WAY** to un **DER** cutting even my a **BYS** mally low expectations. It **SEEMS** that any sort of **MEAN** ingful intel **LECT** ual conversation a **BOUT** the Civil **WAR** is beyond this classes atro **PHIED** brain cells.

All I could think was 'dear lord, how does that eye stay in it's socket.' I looked over to Jane who simply shrugged her shoulders and gave me an 'I told you' look in return. 

“Now **MOST** of you have pro **BAB** ly failed to **NO** tice, but we **HAVE** a new **STU** dent joining us. **DAR** ia Morgen **DORF** fer, would you **PLEASE** raise your hand so that **THOSE** not to **TAL** ly in a **FUGUE** state might acknow **LEDGE** you.”

I did as Mr. DeMartino requested, wondering all the while how a Teacher could so callously berate their class.

“Knowing that **DO** ing so will most like **LY** lead to nothing but **AB** ject disap **POINT** ment and the **POS** sible sweet release of an apo **PLEC** tic attack, I'm **GO** ing to ask **YOU** to cite a **DATE** you con **SID** er to be the **TURN** ing point of the **WAR** and to ex **PLAIN** your choice.” 

Even though I'd been helping Jane with History, since my first night in Lawndale, and was both happy with her progress and well acquainted with the material being covered in class, I was still shocked to be called on for an answer. “well, seeing that the Confederacy's war plan was never to conquer the North but only to perpetuate a war of attrition so costly to the Union that they'd eventually lose their stomach for waging war and negotiate for peace, I'd say November Eighth, Eighteen-Sixty-Four. Up until that date many in the Confederacy still believed that just a few more costly Union battle losses would bring an armistice. When the Union re-elected Abraham Lincoln it sent a clear and unequivocal message to the Confederates that anything but absolute victory was unacceptable.” 

“Mr. DeMartino, I disagree completely.” Jodie Landon barked out as she stood and faced me. “Obviously the combination of the Union victory at Gettysburg followed the next day with the fall of Vicksburg stands as the undisputed turning point of the Civil War.” 

“Jodie, if the Confederate objective had been to conquer the Union then Gettysburg and Vicksburg would have counted as crushing defeats; however, as I've stated already, the Confederacy was – in my opinion – fighting a war of attrition similar to what the colonists had during the Revolutionary War. To be honest in the spring of Eighteen-Sixty-Four almost no one believed that Lincoln could possibly win re-election. In the time period between Gettysburg and Lincoln's re-election the Union lost over a quarter of a million men of which a hundred thousand were lost in just six battles. So yes, the Confederate's were inflicting regular, large losses consistent with their war plan. The Confederacy only realized that their war plan had failed when Lincoln was re-elected, at that point it was no longer if but when the Confederacy would lose the War.” 

“Way to go Morgendorffer” Jane said from behind me “that sounds like slam and dunk to me.” Jane's reward was a savage, acid glare from Jodie.

“Well” Mr. DeMartino said followed by a low raspy chuckle “it **LOOKS** like the unbe **LIEV** able has occurred, a **STU** dent with a **PAS** sion for Histor **Y** for me to **ACT** ually teach.” Then turning to face Jodie Landon, Mr. DeMartino continued “Ms. **LAN** don, while your **POINT** has merit it does **NOT** negate Ms. Morgen **DORF** fer's argument, an **ARG** ument – by the way – which **I** happen to a **GREE** with.” Finally, with a glance to Jane “Oh, and **MS.** Lane, from your comments, I as **SUME** that Ms. Morgen **DORF** fer's arrival and **YOUR** recent im **PROVE** ment in class are **NOT** coinciden **TAL** ; however, **PLEASE** restrict your comments **TO** the **ACT** ual dis **CUS** sion of Histor **Y** and not to **CHEER** -leading.” 

Satisfied, Mr. DeMartino returned to his lecture and the rest of the period passed without interruption. Second period Math was interesting and Third period Science was uneventful with the exception of my Science Teacher, Ms. Barch. If Mr. DeMartino was callous to his students to the point of being cruel, at least he treated everyone with similar contempt; Ms. Barch, however, was easily the most bitter Misandrist I'd ever met. As we walked to English I mentioned this to Jane, she simply said “well for every Yin there's a Yang.” At my befuddled stare, Jane clarified, “You'll understand when you meet Mr. O'Neill our English Teacher, he's possibly the most faint-hearted, new-age wimp alive. I discovered as the class began, that the current book on the syllabus was Jane Eyre. I'd read it more than once and had always believed the books over-riding theme was forgiveness and the redemptive power of love. As the period progressed I was astonished by how overly sensitive and incapable of criticism Mr. O'Neill was, he actually broke down in tears, during the class... twice. Once when he'd lost control of the discussion and lacked the backbone to regain control and again late in the period when a boy – Mr. O'Neill had called him Kevin – declared that the best part of the book was when the mad wife, Bertha, leapt to her death from the roof of Thornfield Hall. According to kevin the part about her brains and blood being scattered on the stones were, in his own words, 'cool'. After his second breakdown, Mr. O'Neill dismissed the class early. Kevin also thought this to be 'cool'.

As we were making are way to the Cafeteria, our conversation was on what had just transpired in English. “So, what did you think of Mr. O'Neill?” Jane asked casually. 

“Jesus said the the meek shall inherit the Earth; however – and Lord please forgive me for being so critical – honestly, Jane, I've seen dish rags with more back bone. And please tell me that Kevin is not really that clueless.”

“No, today was a good day. Kevin usually doesn't even know what book we're reading. I guess his girlfriend, Brittany, she was the one sitting next to him, the one wearing the Cheer-leader uniform, must have liked the story and forced him to watch the movie with her. I can't imagine either one of them reading a newspaper much less a book.”

“Speaking of newspapers, I have that appointment Today, after school, with Ms. Li to meet the staff of the school newspaper. It'll probably take a couple of hours to get settled; should I stop by afterward?”

“I hate to say this, but I was up until two painting and I'll probably be up late again tonight as well.”

“Okay? So maybe tomorrow?”

“Don't know, Daria, possibly. My Muse has really loaded up my head with good ideas and I want to keep working as long as I can.” 

“Well, when your Muse finally decides enough is enough, I've got an idea for you.” 

“O-kay?” Jane drew the word out as she gave me a sidelong glance, she made no attempt to hide her curiosity. “Out with it Morgendorffer.”

“Remember me asking if you were interested in contributing some art for the school paper?”

“Yeah, last Friday. I said that I'd think about it... what'd you have in mind?” 

“I had a chance to look over a couple of issues of the Lowdown yesterday and I was hoping you'd consider designing a new banner for the Paper.”

“I don't know... I'm trying to at least act like I'm still a bit peeved with you about last night; also, I've never been much of a joiner, Daria. But, honestly, I wouldn't mind taking a stab at it... the current banner sucks. If you don't mind, could we talk about it next week?” 

“Sure, Jane. Wouldn't want to get on your Muse's bad side.” With that settled, Jane and I – as had become our routine – shared lunch together and the rest of the School day passed by pleasantly. 

My introduction to the staff by Ms. Li was brief and within minutes I was at the Editor's desk. I had just started my review of the Staffs' latest submissions, when I sensed that one of the staff had not left with the rest. Looking up, I was somewhat unsettled by who was standing at the desk. 

“Yes, Charles, do you have a question?”

Charles seemed restless, after a moment he responded. “I just wanted to say I'm sorry for what happened last week. Do you think we can put it behind us and work together? If not, I guess I'd better hand in my resignation now and be done with it.”

“I'll admit that I was bothered by what you said last week; but that was last week, Charles, not today. Today, you've apologized to me and, since I believe you're sincere, I will accept your apology.” Charles, visibly relaxed at the news. “Now, I don't know how the former Editor handled things; however, I intend to keep my relationships with the Staff entirely professional. Charles, do you believe you can maintain a professional attitude, not just with me but with the Staff as a whole?”

Charles nodded his head as he answered “Yes, I believe I can.”

“Then I don't believe your resignation will be necessary. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“Okay, then I'd like to get back to what I was doing. We'll speak more on Thursday when the Staff meets to go over the lay out for next weeks edition.”

“Yes, of course, Ms. Morgendorffer. Thanks again and pleasant editing.” Charles said as he turned to leave. Then, just as he had reached the door, he added without slowing down or turning around “Oh, by the way, like the new glasses.” I couldn't help but wonder – as I returned to the task at hand – that minus his repugnant affectations Charles was a not at all disagreeable person.

I didn't think much about walking home alone on Monday, Jane needed time for her art; however, when Tuesday, then Wednesday, Thursday and now Today followed all in similar fashion I started to feel just slightly envious of her Muse. Jane had promised to be at my house to help with any last minute preparations for my Birthday and, even though, I had needed about an hour after school to finalize the lay-out for the first edition of the paper as Editor I was still surprised to find Jane sitting on the Sofa when I got home.

“What? Did you think I'd ditch your party?” Jane said feigning offense while obviously quite happy to have caught me off-guard.

“No. Lately, I've just become unaccustomed to seeing you outside of school, Jane.” My retort, flavored with mock indifference, was completely at odds with the smile on my face.

“I'm sorry that your feeling so neglected, Daria; but I assure you it was all for a good purpose.” Jane said, hamming it up and clearly enjoying the banter. “So stop your pouting Morgendorffer, there's a party to get ready for.”

Mom was just coming out of the kitchen, as Jane said that, and continued the conversation. “Yes, Jane, there certainly is a party to set up. If you don't mind, Girls, put the sodas I've left on the counter into the fridge to cool while I go upstairs to change. After that, we'll set up the rest of the decorations and I'll order the pizzas so they're here at five-thirty.” 

Jane was putting the sodas into the fridge and I had just started preparing a bowl of salad to accompany the pizza when the doorbell rang. 

“I wonder who that could be?” I asked rhetorically, it was a little past four-thirty. As I was reaching for a towel to wipe bits of lettuce from my hands. “Keep making the salad, Daria.” Jane said as she closed the door to the refrigerator. “I'm pretty much done here, I'll get the door.” 

“Thanks, I don't think Mom or Dad invited anyone to the party; but, if so, don't have too much fun at their expense... okay?” 

“You know me entirely too well, Morgendorffer.” Jane said with a chortle as she left to answer the front door. A few moments later, Jane called out: “Daria, I think you should come here.” there was a definitely awkward quality to her voice. Grabbing the towel I wiped my hands as I walked to the living room and casually slung the towel over a shoulder as I approached the door. Jane had turned to face me and her body was positioned in such a way that it blocked my view of who was at the door. 

“Daria, you really should have told me that you have an older Sister.” Jane said, clearly perplexed, as she stepped aside giving me free access to the partially open door.

“Jane, what are you talk...” In that instant I was transported back, to a different Birthday, at a different house, in a different State and I was six years old again: six years old and holding my absolutely favorite present as I studied my reflection in the glasses of my absolutely favorite Aunt. It's amazing how emotional memories can make a person and I find myself wasting a second considering if my forming tears are from ten-year-old memories or are rooted in the here and now. That is, until I realize that it couldn't matter less and cry out “Aunt Amy!” simultaneously throwing my arms around her as I bury my face in an Auburn-hair-cushioned shoulder and squeeze for all I'm worth. 

 

To be continued... 

 

I'm sincerely sorry for the lengthy delay between postings. While I was – for a time – suffering a case of writer's block, that was only one issue. As I was setting out my time line for the rest of the story, I realized that there was an error in my date calculations; unfortunately, it was too late to change previous chapters and I felt it mucked up the flow of the story if I attempted a patch repair. Even though the error is a small detail – they do say 'the Devil is in the details' – that detail had the hackles of this anal-retentive author raised for a longer period than was truly necessary. So after a couple of weeks deliberation, I decided to plow on as if the error hadn't occurred. For those of you that noticed the week between Halloween and Daria's Birthday contained only six Calendar days... good for you: if not, then I worried over nothing. Also, as I filled out the Chapter, it became clear to me that if I ended the Chapter where I'd originally intended the length would be unreasonably cumbersome – over 12,000 words – so I reworked a new point for the chapter to end. Again, I'm sorry for the delay and thank everyone who has taken the time to read and critique my effort... it is greatly appreciated.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer,** _Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit._

** We only hurt the ones we love. **

Chapter 16:

“Quinn called me to say that practice had just ended and your Father was on his way to pick her and Stacy up, so I've ordered the Pizza. It'll be here by five-thirty.” Mom informed us as she descended the stairs. Seeing who was sitting in the living room stopped her dead at the bottom step. “Amy!” She declared, clearly surprised to see her younger sister. “I didn't think you were coming.”

“I wasn't going to, I didn't think I'd be welcome.” My Aunt answered candidly, causing me to look back and forth between the two in obvious confusion.

“Goodness, Amy, you can't possibly think we're still upset about that.” 

“Helen, I said terrible things to you and Jake: I can't imagine how you're not upset.”

“As far as I'm concerned, words said in anger at an extremely stressful time, they're ancient history.” Mom said in a supportive voice. “I thought we'd hashed that out a year ago at Mom's seventy-fifth Birthday party?”

“That's the main reason I decided to take a chance. After the greeting I just received from Daria, I'm glad that I did.” My Aunt replied, a small smile returning to her face. After giving her a quick hug, I stood and motioning to Jane said: “I'm very glad you came, too, Aunt Amy. Jane and I need to get back to the kitchen, so we'll leave you and Mom to catch up.” 

Back in the Kitchen, Jane asked me: “What do you think, that was all about?”

“Since everything, so far, has been – in someway or other – related to my having run away I really don't want to think about it.” I said quietly not daring to look anywhere but into the half-prepared salad. Aunt Amy's smile just before we left for the kitchen, though, left me feeling more positive than my last remark sounded, so I added: “Thankfully, this time, at least, it seems to be resolving itself as we speak.” 

I had just finished preparing the salad, when Quinn, Stacy and then Dad entered the kitchen from the garage. “Hi Quinn, hi Stacy, Mom said the pizza will be here in less than a half hour, so if you're planning on changing before dinner, you'd better do it now.” Then turning to Dad, I continued: “Hi Dad.”

“Hey, Kiddo.” Dad replied cheerfully. “How'd School go today?”

“Good, Dad, thanks. How'd your day go?”

“Not bad.” Dad said as he walked up and took a peek at the salad. Then, after snitching an olive from the bowl: “If the pizza will be here in less than a half hour, I'd better go and get changed. Guess your Mom must still be upstairs changing, too.”

“No Dad, she's in the living room visiting with Aunt Amy.” I made my reply in a casual voice; however, I made certain to look straight at my Dad's face to gauge his reaction to the news.

“Amy? That's great. I'd better get a move on if I want to have enough time to say hi to your Aunt and still have time to change.” Dad said, clearly pleased by the news. To my relief, it appeared that whatever had happened between them in the past my parents, at least, had put it behind them.

With a helping hand from Jane, I had managed to prepare the dining room table just in time for the arrival of the pizzas. Sitting open, next to the bowl of salad, the aroma of the three piping hot pizzas – two super carnivore specials, my and Jane's personal favorite, and one with extra mushrooms – had worked their magic and everyone was now convivially standing around the table. Quinn, Stacy and Aunt Amy were pleasantly engaged in conversation, Mom and Dad where happily buzzing about handing out beverages – very much the proud parents – while Jane and I were content to stand back and quietly take in the amicable surroundings. 

As Jane and I were finishing our first slices Aunt Amy made her way over to us.

“So, how's the birthday Girl?” My Aunt asked. 

“Pretty good.” I answered honestly. “The last couple of weeks have been difficult at times, but everyone's been so wonderful and supportive.” A moment later, I added: “Thank you, for being here today... it means so much to me.”

“Well, that's what Aunts are for. Riding in when least expected, subverting our siblings best laid parental planning... we're incorrigible that way.” Aunt Amy said facetiously. 

“That's good to know.” Jane retorted with a feigned seriousness. “I was beginning to get concerned that I was the only one working to corrupt her morals.”

“Jane, I knew there was something about you I liked.” Aunt Amy remarked playfully, a contagious smirk gracing her face. Then turning to me, a more thoughtful expression working on her face. “Daria, I really had no clue what sort of gift to bring. A card with money just isn't my style; but, to be honest, I was at a loss. Than, driving over, an idea hit me. I could take you out on a little bonding day, tomorrow. We could shop, have a couple of meals together, get reacquainted with each other: what do you say?”

“Aunt Amy, just having you...” I started to answer, but my Aunt interrupted.

“Don't even try, Daria. I know it's the correct thing to say, but I don't want to hear it.” That said, she waited, arms crossed in front of her chest, expectantly looking at me.

“I would like that, very much.” I amended, apologetically.

“That's better.” Aunt Amy said, clearly pleased. “How else will my evil plans succeed, if you won't give me the chance to spoil you a bit?”

“Hey, now I've got an idea.” Jane chimed in eagerly. “Daria and I are going out to a grimy grunge club later to hear my Brother's excuse for an alternative band play. Why not come along with us?” 

“Well, seeing how you put it that way, how could a girl refuse?” My Aunt answered with a chuckle. “Unfortunately, I hadn't planned on staying over and seeing how I live about a half-hour south of D.C. That would be a problem.”

As my Aunt was speaking, Mom walked by and hearing her answer said encouragingly: “Amy, the guest room's available. Please, stay with us. I know Daria would like it.”

“It would make things easier for tomorrow...” Aunt Amy said, plainly thinking out loud. “...and I do keep a change of clothes in the car, in case of emergencies... okay. Thank you, Helen.” Then continuing her answer to Jane: “I appreciate the offer, but you really couldn't want someone my age tagging along on your night out.”

“Are you kidding? Anyone that can get Daria as excited as you did when she saw you earlier is more than welcome.”

“Jane's right, Aunt Amy, I would like you to come with us. If you want to, of course.” 

“Then I guess it's decided. Thank you, Jane. I'll go, on one condition.”

“And what would that be?” Jane asked, the tiniest apprehension coloring her voice.

“That you agree to join us tomorrow.” Seeing the now clear apprehension playing on my Friend's face, she added, frankly: “It just seems to me that tomorrow would be a happier day for my Niece if you were to come along.”

Jane looked at me, wanting to know my feelings before answering. I simply smiled at her nodding that she was, most definitely, welcome. “Count me in.” 

We discussed the details of our newly laid plans as we each ate another slice of pizza. We're still - thirty minutes later – agreeably engaged in our conversation, Jane having just finished off her fourth slice of pizza – I'm silently awed by her appetite, when Mom calls us to join her in the kitchen. 

Entering the kitchen we find the rest of the party standing around the counter. On the counter sits a lovely cake – all white icing and filigree with sixteen lit candles – awaiting song and birthday wishes. Atop the cake is written, three lines in an elegant, flowing script, 'Sweet sixteen / Happy birthday, Daria / from a family reunited'. I'm moved to tears by the message and when Mom comes to my side I pull her close and hug her tight. After a moment I let go and my family and friends join in a rousing chorus of happy Birthday. Standing there, feeling momentarily breathless from the power of the emotions I'm experiencing, I can't help but revel in, as well as be amused by, the celebration taking place around me. Jane, in the time that I've known her, has exhibited a pronounced talent for many things: her Art, her playfully wicked repartee, her open-mindedness being but a few. Unfortunately, singing – as I'm now discovering – will never be counted among them. While – to not only my fascination, but, by her unmasked look of awe, my Sister, too – Stacy possesses an uncommonly powerful and clear, almost angelic soprano voice; Jane, on the other hand, seems to approach singing more like performance Art... a performance where melody, harmony, the simple act of carrying a tune hold little importance. Jane's singing is terrible, so terrible – in fact – as to possess a truly unique, warped allure; so, I guess it shouldn't surprise me that for all the beauty conveyed through Stacy's voice, it's Jane's unapologetic verve that's responsible for the smile that's pulled my face into an almost comical grin. 

Handing me a large knife, Mom said: “Would you like to make the first cut, Daria? Then your Father and I can serve the cake and ice cream.” I carefully made the cut as instructed, then before I could make a second cut Mom retrieved the knife from my hand. “Daria, I've got this, go have a seat at the table.” My backside had barely made contact with the chair and there were Jane, Quinn and Aunt Amy standing in front of me fully laden down with beautifully wrapped presents. One by one they placed the presents onto the table until, when done, there was a pile so high that it would be necessary for me to stand in order to see over it. Although, I was so overcome by the sight – of so many gifts – that I probably couldn't have stood anyway, so I simply stared, wide-eyed, at the display. 

Handing me the top package from the pile, Quinn, with a playful smirk gracing her face, stated with mock impatience: “Come on, Daria, start opening them: inquiring minds would like to know what you've gotten.”

Setting the, surprisingly, heavy package on my lap, I read on a small tag, carefully taped to the upper left corner, that it was from Mom & Dad. After freeing the gift from it's ribbon, I pulled away the colorful paper to reveal the gift hidden within... a laptop computer. 

“Mom, … Dad, ….” I couldn't manage any more words as I fiddled with the piece of wrapping paper still gripped in my right hand, self-consciously fretting over the obviously lavish gift.

Not missing a beat, Quinn piped in “Oh, it's the same modal that they gave me for my Birthday. You'll love it, Daria.”

“Thank you. In my wildest dreams, I would never have expected a gift like this... thank you.” The knowledge that Quinn had received the same for her Birthday breaking my self-conscious reverie. 

“Set it on the floor, Daria, There's more for you to open.” Quinn said, now holding an even larger box in her hands. “Otherwise, you and Jane will never get to the club.” Doing as asked, I set my new laptop on the floor and accepted the next present. This was a printer, also from Mom & Dad, to go along with the laptop. After, again, thanking my parents, I set it on the floor next to the laptop and accepted the next gift already in Quinn's hands. In my already susceptible state, reading who had given this gift brought tears to my eyes and a trembling hand to my now open mouth. It was from the Davidson's. 

“It arrived a couple of days ago. They wanted to surprise you, so it was mailed to my office.” Mom said encouragingly as I unwrapped the present, all the while struggling to regain my composure. Lifting the lid of the box, my tentatively restored composure failed me, inside lay a pair of knee-high boots in a rich chocolate brown leather. The leather was buttery soft and expertly hand tooled from the ankle up in an intricate floral pattern. Three buckled leather straps, evenly spaced along the outer side of the boot, allowed access into the leg hugging cut, perfectly complemented the intricate tooling. They were elegant, exquisite even: they were the most beautiful boots I'd ever laid eyes on.

Letting go with an appreciative whistle, Aunt Amy was the first to comment. “That's some pair of boots. I'm jealous as hell.”

“Looks like I won't be the only girl wearing boots to School on Monday.” Jane added blithely.

Grabbing two presents and thrusting them at me, Quinn declared, imploringly: “Open these next.” 

Setting the medium-size boxes on top of the box with my new boots, after confirming that they were – as I suspected – from Quinn, I unwrapped the top box and removed the lid. Carefully inspecting the item, as I removed it, revealed a complete lack of manufacturer's tags. Looking up at Quinn, who was looking back at me earnestly awaiting my reaction, I smiled brightly. “I'm correct in assuming that this is a Quinn original?” Quinn nodded yes, a relieved smile gracing her face. “These feel like wool.”

“Yep. Wool gabardine. I used some of your more fitting clothing as a guide, if I got the measurements right they should fit you like a glove.” Then as I appreciated the styling of the dark charcoal gray wool slacks, so dark they almost appeared to be black, Quinn added: “You have some nice casual slacks, but nothing to wear if you're looking to impress... do you like them?”

“Quinn, they're gorgeous.”

“I took a chance, but since the first time I saw you my mind's eye kept seeing you in these slacks... if you know what I mean.” Nodding to her that I understood, Quinn continued: “Good, now open the other one.”

Doing as asked, I swapped the boxes and proceeded to unwrap and open the second, slightly smaller package. Inside was a heavily tailored, button-front, white broadcloth cotton shirt with a stand collar. The collar, upon closer inspection, was detailed with a tulle-like embroidery also in white. Again there were no manufacturer's tags present.

“Quinn, this is beyond gorgeous: it must have taken you weeks to make.” then in a more tremulous voice, as my composure, again, faltered: “Thank you, so much.”

“You're welcome, Sis. Can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.” I replied with a sniff, barely holding my emotions in check.

“Please, try them on before you leave tonight.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Pushing the last gift on the table in front of me, a look of pure glee on her face, Quinn directed: “Now back to work, Sis, there's still a couple left to open.”

After transferring the boxes from my lap to the now substantial collection by my feet, I proceeded to unwrap the gift from, as the tag read, 'All of us' and discovered a box containing a three CD bookshelf stereo system complete with a wireless remote control.

“With your collection of Cd's, Kiddo, we figured you could use something a bit better than Quinn's old CD player.” Dad said cheerily.

Thinking that I'd opened everything, I started to thank everyone for the wonderful gifts. That was until I realized Jane was holding an extremely large, wrapped present. The dimensions made it clear that the gift was a painting. Suddenly, the pieces fell together and everything made sense.

“Your Muse?” I asked as I felt new tears begin to well.

“You know me too well, I hope you like it.”

Standing up, I said as I rounded the table: “Jane, you painted it for me. I'm certain I'll love it.” I started to reach for the present, but Jane stopped me. 

“No, I've got it. Just stand back a few steps and I'll do the honors. I want you to see it from a proper distance.” That said, Jane rested the bottom edge of the present on the table then gently pulled the paper away. 

[](http://www.flickr.com/photos/89277727@N00/11009325386/)

As the others gasped, oohed and aahed at the painting, I stared mutely as my brain took a few seconds to process all the detail and nuances of the portrait before my eyes. It was the drawing Jane had made to convince me to get my new glasses, recast as oil on canvas. The detailed brushwork used to render my face and hair was painstakingly precise and accurate. Jane, by layering paint on paint had built up my visage to allow the viewer's mind to believe it was seeing a three-dimensional image beginning to emerge from the canvas. The background, a whimsical study in shades of blue, only accentuated the effect. The gilded wood frame with a continuous chain of roses in bas-relief complemented the portrait perfectly. The painting was sublime in both beauty and artistry. I couldn't, for the life of me, imagine how someone as unworthy as myself had – through God's grace – been led to a friend so wonderful. 

“Jane...” I croaked, not even trying to fight back the tears. “This is so much more than I could ever deserve... God bless you... it's absolutely beautiful.”

“You can't imagine how relieved I am” Jane said after a moment, obviously moved by my totally emotional response. “I couldn't afford to buy you anything and was worried you might not appreciate it.”

“But, Jane, in my mind you did buy it. It must have cost you dozens of hours to paint. It's, truly, a labor of love... it's simply a perfect gift.”

For yet another time tonight, to my immense gratitude, Quinn stepped in to return order to the celebration. “Here, Jane, let me help you take the painting up to Daria's room, while She and Stacy bring up the rest of the presents.”

“Jake, why don't you and I help the girls while Helen finishes dishing out the ice cream.” Aunt Amy said as she retrieved the boxes with the boots, slacks & shirt from the floor.

“Good idea, Amy.” Said my Dad as he moved to pick up the box with the printer. Then with Stacy carrying the stereo and me the laptop, I led the caravan from the kitchen up to my room. 

Our cake and ice cream finished, the party moved back to the living room as I excused myself and returned to my room to try on the slacks and shirt Quinn had sewn for me. Once I'd laid the clothes out on my bed, I took a minute to admire the style and craftsmanship of my Sister's work. Both articles of clothing were styled in a noticeably tapered cut meant to accentuate the shape of the wearer's body. Feeling a twinge of trepidation, but not wanting to disappoint my sister, I disrobed and gingerly slid myself into the strange fitting apparel. My admiration for Quinn's skill as a seamstress grew as I realized that while form fitting to every part of my body, there was no place where the clothing felt tight or the material pulled unnaturally. Opening my closet to reveal the full length mirror mounted to the back of the door, I was bewildered by just how flattering the clothing was to my body... when did I grow a butt? There was one detail about the shirt, however, that left me feeling embarrassingly self-conscious. Quinn had tailored the front in such a way that it left a pronounced – for lack of a better word – bulge in which my bosom not just rested, but was slightly lifted and pushed together. Removing the loden jacket from the closet and slipping it on, tempered the effect sufficiently. Marveling at how well they all went together I made the decision, then and there, to wear it tonight. A knock on my bedroom door startled me slightly. Looking at my bedside clock, I realized that I'd been upstairs for more than twenty minutes.

“Yes?” I asked

“Can we come in?” Quinn replied from the hallway.

“Sure can.” I answered. As Quinn entered, along with Stacy and Jane, her face was simply alight with satisfaction. “I had just that jacket in mind as I designed the shirt.” Quinn enthused. “That outfit is killer.” after a moment she asked: “Take the jacket off, please. I'd like to see how the shirt fits.”

“Uhmm, okay.” I said hesitantly then slowly removed the jacket.

“You were right, Quinn.” Stacy chirped excitedly “She fills it out nicely.”

“I told you she had the body for it” Quinn replied matter-of-factly.

“Uhmm, Quinn, no offense but don't you think this cut is just a bit too attention getting?” I asked, looking down at my now quite noticeable bosom.

“Of course, Daria. If you got it be proud of it.” Quinn stated, as if talking to a five year old.

“A little help would be appreciated here, Jane.” I said, looking pointedly at my friend.

“I don't know, Daria. Coming from the land of the A-cup myself, I'd be quite happy to be able to fill a sweater with something like those.”

“Honestly, Sis, with the jacket on you look amazing. Please tell me you'll wear it tonight.”

“Yeah, I am. I'd decided that just before you came upstairs.” I answered, much to Quinn's delight. “And speaking of which, shouldn't we be going, Jane, it's after seven-thirty.”

“It'd be a good idea, seeing that the bands first set is at nine. Let's collect your Aunt and be on our way.” With that said, I put my jacket back on and we headed downstairs. 

When we got outside, I discovered that Aunt Amy's pride and joy, her red triumph convertible sports car, was to be our transportation for the evening. Looking through the side window into the passenger compartment, I noticed that what passed for a back seat could barely hold a small child. Looking back at Jane then again into the Triumph, I gazed over the cloth roof to my Aunt – who, after having unlocked the passenger side door, had made her way around the front of the vehicle and was in the process of unlocking the driver's door – and asked “Should I ask Mom if we can take her SUV?”

Staring back at me and then Jane, my Aunt gently slapped a palm to her forehead as she shook her head slowly side-to-side. “Good one, Amy.” she said to no one in particular. “Invite three people for a ride in a car built for two.” Then looking at Mom's SUV, she continued: “that would probably be a good idea.”

“Nonsense.” Jane interjected as she made her way around me to the car. “I'm used to riding in tight places.” then opening the passenger side door “Just let me slide on into the back and we'll be on our way.” To my utter amazement, Jane not only managed to easily slither (slither being the only word I could find to describe Jane's movements) into the back seat, she even seemed comfortable once inside. How that was possible, with her feet tucked well under the driver's seat, her right hip on the center of the tiny bench and her head resting on the passenger side wall padding was beyond me. Once certain that the passenger's seat was pulled forward as far as possible, taking my seat, I looked back at Jane. “Are you sure, Jane? You can't possibly be comfortable.”

“Are you kidding, I wouldn't miss being seen in this car for anything... it's totally cool.” With that said, Aunt Amy, who had already taken her place behind the wheel, seeing no reason to argue, simply started the engine then carefully guided the car away from the curb. 

We arrived at the Zon just after eight and since there was nearly an hour before the band was scheduled to begin we easily found a table not far from the stage. 

“What would you girls like to drink?” My Aunt asked as Jane and I took our seats.

Getting back up, Jane said “Let me, Ms. Barksdale. Since my Brother plays here often, I get soda and chips for free.”

“Fringe benefits, I like the way you think, Jane. And, please, call me Amy.”

“How about Aunt Amy? It's just too weird for me to hear Daria call you Aunt Amy and me call you Amy.”

“Hmm, that'd make you an adopted Niece. I could live with that.”

“If it means Christmas and Birthday presents, I could live with it too.” Jane said with an impish smirk. “Now one pitcher of ultra-cola and a basket of chips coming up.” Jane added as she turned and walked off towards the bar.

Taking the seat to my right, Aunt Amy took a moment to take in the condition of the woefully maintained interior. “Reminds me of a few of my College haunts.” She said casually.

“Stirring up fond memories?” I asked.

“Memories, nightmares, it was College: sometimes they're one and the same thing.” Her response was said in such an odd manner, that I was forced to look her in the face to confirm that her remark was in jest.

“Made you look.” She said lightheartedly. Then, seizing the opportunity, my Aunt added: “You've made quite a friend, Daria. I hope you know how lucky you are.” Before I could reply, Jane returned pitcher gripped in one hand, a stack of glasses in the other and an oval basket of potato chips pinched in between the two. Relieving Jane of the basket, I placed it in the center of the table while she set the glasses in front of us then proceeded to pour the soda. We talked together for awhile mostly about Jane's Brother's band and what type of music they played. When the topic had run it's course, my Aunt asked quizzically “Quinn and her friend don't really think they're fooling anybody, do they?” 

After sharing a look with Jane, she answered “ ** _They_** think so; miraculously, with the exception of me, Daria, and your Sister, they've succeeded.”

“You're pulling my leg.” Aunt Amy stated, incredulously. “No one at School?”

“Nope. Honestly, that's not a surprise. Most of our classmates are completely clueless.” Jane replied. “School's not the problem, though. It's Stacy's parents and the Church they belong to.”

“Aah, I see. They're not exactly accepting of same-sex couples, are they?” 

“That's, definitely, putting it mildly... more like a flock of hypocrites and homophobes.” Jane stated bitterly. Then she said to me, directly: “Daria, I have a good grasp of your personal feelings. What I don't understand is how you can read the same Bible and be supportive, while those yahoos want to burn them at the stake.”

“I can't speak for anyone else, Jane. What I can tell you is that the more I question the scriptures, the more I realize that only with a loving, open heart can one ever truly hope to understand even a fraction of it's wisdom.”

“Once again, Morgendorffer, your answer leaves me more confused than before I asked the question. Please, how are you getting it right? What aren't they getting?” Jane's words carried the same sense of frustration now evident on her face.

“It's not that simple, Jane. About my personal beliefs, I'm only certain that I can defend them by what's written the scriptures. That doesn't make them right in anyone else's eyes, only in my heart.” Seeing that my answer had only increased Jane's level of frustration, I expanded on my answer. “Okay, Jane. What I'm about to say, while a grossly simplified explanation, may better answer your question. One, I believe God created us with our particular sexual orientation; two, the Scriptures teach us that God will not tempt us beyond what we're able to endure; Three, I believe that the term sexual immorality implies sex for lustful, selfish, pleasure that is the antithesis of what two people share in a loving, monogamous relationship. Now, believing what I do, then it only seems natural that God has also provided for a means to properly signify such committed, monogamous relationships... something similar to, but distinct from, Marriage. Otherwise, Heterosexual couples would have marriage to avoid temptation, but same-sex couples – with the same innate feelings and desires – would be forced to bear temptation beyond endurance.”

“Okay. I get that. You believe it's predetermined, they believe it's a choice. What I still don't get is why do they hate them so much?”

“I don't have any other answer, except that they shouldn't. Hate has no place in a Christian's heart. It's written in the first letter of John: “The one who says he is in the light and hates his brother is in the darkness until now. The one who loves his brother resides in the light, and there is no cause for stumbling in him. But the one who hates his brother is in the darkness, and walks in the darkness, and does not know where he is going, because the darkness has blinded his eyes.” I suspect, though, that it probably goes all the way back to early Christianity's misinterpretation of the sin of Sodom.”

“Sodom? Do you mean sodomy?” Jane asked, genuinely surprised. 

“No, Jane, I certainly do not. But your question goes right to the root of the issue. From antiquity until around the eleventh century, the prevailing belief was that God destroyed Sodom because it's inhabitants failed to uphold the rule of hospitality towards strangers. It wasn't until St. Augustine emphasized the sexual component of the story that it became the prevailing Christian view. Interestingly, however, Jewish Scholars have never espoused this view: in their writings the Sin has always been, is now and always will be Sodom's flagrant violations of the rule of hospitality. This is critical, since the story is from the old Testament book of Genesis, the first book of the Jewish Torah.”

“O-kay.” Jane said slowly, deliberately: her limited knowledge of the topic having been pushed past it's limits. “Then why did the meaning change?”

“In my opinion, because people made the common mistake of interpreting an ancient story through the filter of current moral and ethical behavior. There was certainly a sexual component to the story; however, instead of seeing the mob's cry 'that the men be brought out so that they may know them' inferred that the mob, possibly, intended to rape them – a crime of power, domination and degradation, not sexual passion – or, more probably, rob, beat and then murder them. The Church found the hospitality component a far less compelling motive for God's destruction than the sexual component, since by the eleventh century A.D. the concept of hospitality had become more a courtesy than the imperative it was at the time of the telling of the story. Unfortunately, by believing only the assumed sexual act was the 'Sin of Sodom' it by extension meant that anyone that practiced such an act, under any circumstances, not only doomed themselves to destruction but put – Like the City of Sodom – the entire community at risk for destruction. This, in turn, led to a millennium of intense persecution against a group of people due, solely, to a subjective interpretation of the Bible.” 

Up to this point, my Aunt had been quietly observing our discussion. Now, picking up on something I'd said, she asked skeptically: “Daria, let me make sure I heard you correctly, anal sex had nothing to do with the destruction of Sodom?” 

“Not any more than it being only one example of the citizen's total lack of regard, any sort of decency, towards strangers.” I answered as calmly as I could. “The Prophet Ezekiel states quite clearly what the 'Sin of Sodom' was: “Look! This was the iniquity of Sodom, your sister: Pride, abundance of food, and prosperous ease was to her and to her daughters, and she did not sustain the needy and the poor. And they were proud, and they did a detestable thing before me, and I removed them because I saw it.””

My Aunt stared intently at me for a moment before saying in a more respectful tone: “Helen said you were religious, but to quote, from memory, like you just did is, still, very impressive. You carry yourself like a conservative Christian, Daria, but your beliefs are actually quite progressive... and that **_is_** a rather pleasant surprise.”

“I'm not sure if I'd call myself a progressive – whatever, exactly, that means – I simply base my views and beliefs upon what, after critical examination, the Scriptures reveal to me. The Davidson's always told me: “If something seems off, then pass it through this filter: what did Jesus teach us to do?” So far that advice has worked.” 

The lowering of the house lights accompanied the bands arrival on stage and brought an end to our conversation. I can't say that I was anything other than relieved: the discussion had begun specifically about Quinn and Stacy but had, quickly, devolved into a discussion of sexual practices that I found quite discomforting. As the Band began their set, I was – at first – put off by the volume of their playing, the interesting chord progressions and Trent's raspy, yet soulful voice, however, soon captured my interest. As they moved farther into the set, it became clear that the band's choice of lyrics needed work: overall, though, the performance was enjoyable. 

“Hey, we're Mystik Spiral, but we're thinking of changing the name.” Trent spoke into the mike as Jane, much to my amusement, mimicked him perfectly. “We're gonna take a short break, but before we do I'd like to wish a happy Birthday to my little Sister's best friend. Hey, Daria, this one's for you.” Then with a quick count down, the band broke into the Beatles “Birthday”

“Oh, look, Jane, she's blushing... that's so cute.” Aunt Amy teased

Putting her hands, palms out, in front of her, Jane, clearly unaware of what the band had planned, entreated: “Hey, I said nothing. Trent did know, though, with my rather large gift for you, that he was dropping me off for your Birthday party.”

Looking around the room and not finding anyone showing even the slightest interest in whose Birthday was being celebrated made me feel better; so, swallowing down my embarrassment I said: “not a problem, Jane. I guess it couldn't be helped.” 

When the band finished, Jane waived them over and introduced them to my Aunt. After exchanging pleasantries they excused themselves, wanting to get a few minutes rest, and made their way to the corner table reserved for the band.

We were in the middle of discussing our impressions of the first set, when Jane stated darkly: “Oh great.”

Following Jane's gaze, I noticed Kevin, Mike and two other boys – whom I recognized as classmates, but did not know their names – approaching from the opposite side of the club. 

When they'd reached our table, Kevin said in a cheerful, but oblivious manner: “We heard the band sing happy Birthday to you, Daria. Is it really your Birthday?”

“Yes, Kevin, today is my Birthday.” I answered politely to my affable, but dopey classmate. 

“Wow, that's cool. Isn't it Mack Daddy.”

“I asked you not to call me that.” Mike stated, mildly irritated by the monicker. “We just wanted to come over and wish you a happy Birthday, Daria.”

“Oh, thank you, Mike. That's very kind of you.” I said softly, surprised and slightly embarrassed by the attention. Remembering my manners, I added: “Guys, this is my Aunt, Amy Barksdale.” I said motioning to where my Aunt was sitting. “And I'm sure you all know Jane.” 

“Hello, Ms. Barksdale, very nice to meet you. Hi, Jane.” Mike replied to the introductions.

“Very nice to meet you, too. And thank you for coming over to congratulate my Niece. That was very thoughtful.” Aunt Amy stated sincerely.

“mm” Was Jane's distracted response. She hadn't even bothered to look up.

“Well, we'd better get back before someone steals our table.” Mike said, clearly disquieted by Jane's reaction. “See you at School on Monday, Daria, enjoy the rest of your Birthday.” The rest of the boys offered similar parting words and then they headed off.

When they were well away from the table, Aunt Amy asked: “Ex-Boyfriend, Jane?”

“No just a former Friend. Nothing worth wasting our time talking about.” Jane offered in a voice begging that we change topic. 

Recognizing Jane's discomfort, Aunt Amy quickly steered the conversation to tomorrow's excursion and planning the arrangements. We'd finalized our schedule by the time the band returned for their second set. Unfortunately, the second set was no where near as polished as the first and about halfway through the set we left for home.

As agreed the night before, we didn't pick-up Jane until Eleven; amazingly, she was ready and out the door as soon as Aunt Amy's triumph pulled into the Lane's driveway. Already accustomed to the triumph's – to put it politely – intimate rear seating, Jane easily slid through the void created as I pulled my seat back forward and a moment later we were on our way.

“I thought we'd try out that new super-mega mall between Baltimore and D.C.” Aunt Amy said as soon as we'd left the neighborhood. “I don't know about you but, personally, I'd prefer walking through an enormous mega-mall where everything's under one roof, than tooling around in the car half the day driving from store to store.”

“That'll give me a chance to break in the boots; honestly, they feel so comfortable already that that probably won't be an issue.” I said in agreement.

“Works for me” Jane replied, then added: “Not that I'm complaining, or anything, but the less time I spend back here the happier lil' Janey will be.”

“And here I thought, by the way you contort yourself getting in and out of there, that you enjoyed imitating Houdini: I am disappointed.” My Aunt retorted with playful sarcasm. 

The conversation continued in a similar manner for the remainder of the trip and forty-five minutes later, which – due to how much we were enjoying each others company – seemed much shorter, we were standing at one of the cavernous entrances to, as the sign above the entrance clearly announced, the mall of the millennium.

Once we'd located a map of the mall with directory my Aunt suggested “It's almost noon, let's say we get lunch first, my treat of course, then we can shop til one of us drops or until I get bored and leave you here.”

“Promises, promises.” Was Jane's playfully droll reply.

“Well, the song does go 'these boots are made for walking' so as long as you feed us who am I to complain.” I responded, in my own droll monotone, before adding in a friendlier tone: “lets see what level they've put the food court.”

“Sorry, but no way, I promised you a real lunch for your Birthday, Daria: not the preprocessed, pseudo-food they dole out to unsuspecting teenagers in food courts.” Aunt Amy stated in a don't-even-try-to-argue-with-me tone of voice. After scanning the mall directory for a few moments, she continued: “Level three, magenta there's a Pastabilities: are you girls up for some Italian?”

Jane was smiling enthusiastically but remained silent, deferring the choice to me. “I like Italian and I know for a fact that Jane loves it.” 

“Good, then it's decided.” My Aunt said and we headed off in search of level three. It only took a few minutes to locate Pastabilities and after being seated in a cozy, quiet section of the restaurant we placed our order and, while waiting for our food, fell easily – once again – into pleasant conversation. 

Soon after we'd finished our meals, Jane excused herself and headed off in search of the ladies' room. Taking advantage of the time alone with my Aunt, I asked: “Aunt Amy, I hope I'm not about to ask something that's none of my business but...” 

I'd hesitated for just a moment and Aunt Amy, sensing my trepidation, cut in: ”About the discussion your Mother and I were having yesterday?” I nodded my head that, yes, that was my question. “I saw the way you looked at us, Daria, and figured you'd ask sooner or later.” Then, after taking a moment to compose her thoughts, she continued: “When you ran away, I accused your folks of being terrible parents, of being so caught up in their own careers that they, instead of supporting and appreciating their brilliant but lonely little girl, they'd ignored her in favor of an impossibly spoiled little brat.” Seeing my shocked expression, she added: “I was really angry, you were my favorite and when I came for your sixth Birthday I'd noticed – or at least thought I'd noticed – certain inequities between how you and Quinn were treated and I was pained by how alienated you seemed to be. I lashed out at them. We didn't speak for almost eight years.” Once she'd begun the words came out in a cathartic rush. “I was wrong, of course: Helen and Jake were devastated losing you. My words were like a match to gasoline, so I couldn't believe that they had forgiven me. I was such a chicken-shit that at first I declined the invitation to yesterday's party.”

“Aunt Amy, no, it's okay... you're here now.” I tried to counter, to reassure her.

“No, Daria, what happened was not okay... but you're right, I'm here now and I intend to make up for a lot of lost time.” Then gracing me with a playful – while, at the same time – no nonsense smile, she declared: “Prepare to be duly spoiled.”

'Spoil? Aunt Amy wasn't kidding' I thought, three hours later, as she led Jane and I into an obscenely large music and video store.

“Seeing the stereo you got last night, I figured we should be able to find you something nice in here.” Aunt Amy explained once we were inside.

After a few minutes wandering through the classical music aisles, Jane separated from me and my Aunt to browse the alternative music section. Ten minutes later, as we were passing a wall of shelves lined with multiple-CD boxed sets I paused for a moment to study one in particular... a six CD set containing all the songs composed by Hugo Wolf. Seeing the price, I immediately decided against it and continued on. What I hadn't noticed, though, was that my Aunt had been watching my actions carefully. I hadn't taken two steps before Aunt Amy walked up and removed the box set from the shelf. 

“Wolf's Gesamten lieder?” She asked as she studied the cover. “I'm a Mozart girl myself, but I've heard a couple of his songs performed and they were pretty good. Did you want to get this?”

“It's too expensive, Aunt Amy.”

“That wasn't what I asked.” My Aunt stated bluntly. “I asked if you wanted it.”

“But you've already bought me so much today: books and those lovely ankle boots... they were over a hundred dollars. They're more than enough.”

“Daria...” My Aunt interjected with a hint of exasperation. “Please, just answer the question." 

“Very much.” I stated honestly. Then added forcefully: “but it's sixty dollars!”

“Then it's decided.” My Aunt replied as she turned, having completely dismissed my protest. Walking away, item in hand, she spared me an over-the-shoulder look and added: “I'm going to do a bit of browsing myself, let me know if you find anything else.” 

Fifteen minutes later, having finished exploring the classical racks, I went in search of Jane and Aunt Amy and found my Aunt walking away from the cashier, two small bags in her hand.

“I see you found something, too.” I said as I walked up.

“Sorry?” My Aunt asked. “Oh, these?” she queried, lifting the bags slightly. “One bag's yours and the other's for Jane.”

“Jane? Jane, actually asked you for a CD?” I asked. Quite perplexed, knowing Jane's aversion to accepting charity.

“No, she didn't. I just observed her like I did you. She spent about five minutes fiddling with this CD before she returned it to the rack. Once she'd walked away, I grabbed it.”

“Uhmm, Aunt Amy, I don't mean to question your generosity; but, Jane is really adamant when it comes to accepting anything she perceives as charity.”

“Well then, Daria, it seems there's something you need to learn.”

“And that would be?” I asked, honestly puzzled.

“That sometimes, how you give a gift is as important as the gift itself.” With that said, my Aunt motioned, slightly, with her head for me to look to my left. Doing as she wished, I saw Jane slowly making her way to join us. Placing one of the small bags into her handbag she then handed the second to me. “This is yours, Daria. Now let's collect Jane.” We made our way so that we met Jane just inside the entrance to the store. Once together, My Aunt asked Jane and I: “I hope you girls are getting hungry, I have a little surprise in store for dinner.”

“Wow, two meals in one day, you really know the way to this girl's heart.” Jane exclaimed, clearly pleased by the prospect.

“Good to hear.” Aunt Amy said as she closed the space between her and Jane then, bending her head slightly, she whispered something into Jane's ear that made Jane's eye go wide. 

“Oh yeah, no problem.” Jane uttered excitedly.

“Are you sure, Jane? It is a bit of a ride.”

“For that, I'd ride in your backseat to the Moon and back.”

“Okay, then, let's get moving.” That said, Aunt Amy turned and, with us right behind her, we started our exodus from bowels of the mall.

When we were, once again, cozily reseated in Aunt Amy's snug vehicle, she said as she started the engine: “Jane, I gotta say you're quite the trooper enduring this car's excuse for a backseat without complaint.”

“Eh, de nada.” Jane replied with a small shoulder shrug, somehow, appearing comfortable – while, in fact – wedged into the claustrophobic space.

Extracting the bag from her handbag, Aunt Amy deftly lobbed the small plastic bag back to Jane, then said: “Well here's a little something to show my gratitude: a small recompense for your suffering, you might say.”

For a moment, Jane just stared into the bag. Then, her gaze still directed into the bag, she stated plainly: “You do know, that last night, I was only kidding about the Christmas and Birthday presents.”

“And your point would be?” My Aunt queried from the driver's seat: all the time watching Jane's reaction, through the rear view mirror, an amused grin gracing her face.

“That...” Jane began, but stopped as she looked up and their gazes met in the mirror. Seeing the lighthearted, but sincere look in my Aunt's eyes, Jane simply ended her rebuttal. “Thank you.” 

“That's better. I swear, it's like you two are allergic to presents.” My Aunt teased as she put the car into gear and backed out of the parking space.

Forty-five minutes later, Aunt Amy had just pulled the car up to a restaurant and we were now standing in the parking lot admiring the breathtaking view before us. We were standing along the bank of a sizable river not far from where it emptied into an enormous body of water. On the opposite bank of the river stood a large, old town, it's lights glowing warmly in the darkening twilight of the sunset.

“Where are we?” I asked, enthralled.

“On the Severn river, Daria. Down river is the Chesapeake bay and over there is the City of Annapolis.” My Aunt explained as she pointed, first down and then across the river.

After following where my Aunt had indicated, I looked back and noticed that Jane was fidgeting, like a five year old, with anticipation. “Jane, what's got you so excited?” I asked, curious as to why a life-long citizen of Maryland would find the view so thrilling.

With a wanton, delirious expression, Jane reverently uttered two words: “Crab cakes.”

Having been raised in Texas and Idaho, I had no clue as to what they were. So, clearly befuddled, I asked: “Crab cakes?”

“Come on, Jane” My Aunt called as she walked up to me. “You grab one arm, I'll grab the other and we'll go and educate this neophyte.” With that I found myself being guided with purpose to the restaurant.

Riding home, having just eaten, possibly, the most sumptuous meal of my life, I was having difficulty containing the unadulterated glee I felt. The last two days had been, hectic, remarkable sojourns: sojourns – I was now realizing – made all the more remarkable by the company. As I looked back to catch a glimpse of Jane napping peacefully in the backseat, Aunt Amy asked: “Was today everything you'd hoped it would be?”

Sharing my now beaming smile with her, I stated: “Thanks to you and Jane, Today has been one of the happiest, remarkable days of my life.”

After a few moments, each of us working through the significance of my words, my Aunt – her eyes still focused on the road – responded: “It was my pleasure. And I want you to know that, as far as the day being remarkable, the feeling's mutual.”

For the next several minutes we shared a companionable silence as my Aunt focused her attention to navigating the unfamiliar back roads. Soon, however, Jane returned from the land of nod and the carefree banter and small talk of earlier in the day returned for the remainder of our drive home. 

School days had by now fallen into a comforting routine: meet up at Jane's house, lively conversation on the way to School then experience the panoply of emotions our classes, teachers and classmates often evoked. Because of the later, Lunch had become a pleasant respite, a sunny island on the sometimes stormy sea of Lawndale High. 

Jane and I were just finishing our sandwiches when Mike, having just come up to the table, cleared his throat to get our attention. “Jane, could we talk for a minute... privately.”

“I can't think of anything we have to talk about, that'd require privacy.” Jane stated coolly. “Whatever you need to say, just do it.”

Mike stared, unabashed, at Jane for a moment before continuing. “Okay, Jane, fine. I was curious why you're so pissed with me. We haven't spoken in years and, if I remember right, that was your choice.”

“Oh, really?” Jane queried, her voice level, but with an unmistakable edge. “How could being abandoned by my, at the time, best friend possibly be **_my_** choice?”

“Come on, Jane, don't give me that crap. You had to know how much I cared for you: I wasn't, exactly, being subtle about it.” Mike stated, his voice tight with frustration.

“Yeah, and your point being?” Jane fired back, flippantly.

“That, even after my parents warned me that how I felt about you would only lead to my being hurt, I still believed that they were wrong, that I knew you better, that you were different, that you cared. But no, after I wore my heart on my sleeve, told you how I felt, what I wanted, you foisted me off: when I found out why, it hurt like hell.” 

“Well, sorry to have hurt **_your_** feelings. I wanted a best friend, you wanted a relationship... I helped you get what you wanted.” 

In response to Jane's patronizing words, Mike rebutted, angrily “Why don't you stop sugar-coating it, Jane.” All pretense of civility, between the two, or concern for being overheard were lost as the words flew fast and heated in the now quickly escalating argument.

“Excuse me?!?” 

“Jody told me what you said to her... God, my parents were right all along, I was such a fool.”

“And that would be?” 

“That it was okay with you having a black friend, but not a black boyfriend.”

On hearing those words, Jane shot up from her chair, slammed her palms onto the table and roared at Mike. “She said what!!! And you believed her!!!” Jane nearly growled the final words out, then stood silent for a moment, her lips tightly pursed, before continuing in a voice laced with cool disdain. “Well, you were right about one thing... you were a fool if you thought that color had anything to do with how I felt.”

“Then educate me, Jane. Because I can't think of any other reason that explains how you acted.” 

Jane stared silently at Mike, closed her eyes momentarily then exhaled resignedly. Refocusing her gaze directly at Mike: she answered in a still forceful but far less antagonistic voice: “I was scared. Hell, I was terrified. You knew about my family and their screwed-up relationships. We had a great friendship and all I could see was how becoming more would ruin it.”

“But, Jody said that...” Mike, to his credit, seeing the pain in Jane's expression, realized that something was very much wrong and wisely left the rest of his reply unspoken.

“I don't know what story she cooked up. I told her what I just told you, that I was scared and didn't want to lose my best friend.” There was fire at the start of Jane's reply; however, by the end her voice was spent and tinged with sadness.

Mike stood there for several seconds deliberately rubbing his face with his right hand, like a person just awakened from a long sleep, before saying in a quiet voice “Jane... I'm sorry.” Then, after a moment spent clearly in deep thought: “If you'll excuse me, ladies, I need to go have a little talk with someone.” That said, Mike, turned and quickly left the cafeteria.

I watched Mike depart until the sniffling sound of Jane working to hold back tears claimed my attention. Turning, I found my friend, still standing, her body trembling from the emotional exchange. Taking Jane's hand, I carefully coaxed her back into the recently vacated chair all the while reassuring her as she worked to reclaim her frazzled composure. Once she'd mostly pulled herself together, aware that only a few minutes remained in the period, I asked Jane if she wanted to head out early and use the restroom. After a silent nod I helped her up and we made our way out. 

We'd walked about half the way to the nearest restroom when Jane finally spoke. “I didn't want this.”

“Want what, Jane?”

“Today, Mike and me, there's going to be trouble and I don't want to be involved in it.”

“A lip of truth endures forever, but a tongue of deception lasts only a moment.” I said thinking of Proverbs, then added: “Bread gained by deceit is sweet for the man, but afterward, his mouth will be filled with gravel.”

“I've missed your Bible quoting, Morgendorffer.” Jane said, sparing me a wistful smile. “I get the first one, the truth lasts forever but a lie's fleeting, right?” I nodded that she was correct. “But the second one? It's like saying you reap what you sow: even I know that's in the Bible somewhere.” 

Having reached the restroom, I waited until we were inside to answer. “Sort of, Jane, I was more thinking out loud than anything. The trouble is Jody's, you only shed the light that revealed her deception. That's one sure thing about the truth, no matter how hard one tries to hide it, it always comes out in the end. As for the mouth being full of gravel, the end result of deception is never very satisfying and provides absolutely no nourishment... one will always end up famished as a result.”

Jane took a moment to splash a bit of cooling water on her face as she mulled over my explanation. Then after pulling a couple of paper towels from the dispenser she proceeded to dry her face. “Okay, so if what you're saying is supposed to cheer me up, why do I have such a bad feeling about it?”

“That one I have no answer for, Jane. Let's just get ourselves to Gym, maybe that and then a little time behind a canvas will help.”

“It certainly couldn't hurt, Amiga.” Jane said as we made our way to the Gym. 

'We lingered a bit too long after Art class, I need to hurry or I'll be late for French class.' I can remember thinking that as I hurriedly turned the corner, leaving the main hallway to proceed up the hall where my next class was being held, then – I sense a blur of motion to my side and – Wham, I'm flying and my back lands forcibly against a locker. It's bizarre that at first only the sound, not the pain, of my back and shoulders being thrown into a locker door registered in my mind. As the first blow strikes my left cheek, the force of the blow knocking my head so violently to the right that my glasses fly from my face, I taste the bitter, cooper-tinged presence of blood in my mouth and then all I can sense is the pain, The pain as one blow, then another, then another reign down on me. I reflexively pull my hands up to my head so that my forearms are covering my face, but the blows are so vicious that I need to grab handfuls of my own hair in order to keep my forearms in place. 

“So, you want to mess with me?” She says, then a blow that grazes my left arm and hits my left ear so hard it burns with pain.

“Cause problems with me and my Boyfriend?” Another blow, this one glancing off the left side of my head. 

“Think I wouldn't make you pay?” A blow, this time to the right side of my face between the eye and temple, hard enough to make my stomach lurch from the pain and bring the taste of bile to my mouth to mix with the taste of the blood.

“Did you? Bitch.” Blow. “Huh?” Blow... blow... blow.

Then with a derisive laugh “You really won't fight back, will you? Okay, fine with me. It'll make it easier for you to...” The next blow's partially blocked by my left forearm but it still strikes my left cheekbone, hard enough to make me feel dizzy.

“feel...” A blow to the right side of my head and I feel my knees buckle slightly.

“my...” Another blow to the right side of my head.

“pain!” then a flurry of blows and I sense that my back is starting to slide down the locker.

“Hey!” Through the pain induced haze I hear someone else, a familiar voice, yelling followed by the thud of a collision accompanied by a grisly, crunching sound, that, for some strange reason, reminds me of walnuts being cracked open. At the same time, before I can allow myself to expand on that thought, to take my mind away from the pain, a pair of arms wrap tightly around me causing me to flinch in reflex. Then I realize two things; one, I'm being hugged – protectively – not attacked; and two, It's Jane quietly reassuring me everything's okay. Now, as the mental fog starts to clear, I'm aware of other sounds around me... unsettling sounds. I hear Quinn screaming savagely at someone and, filtering through my Sister's harangue, the muffled sounds of another person moaning in agony. 

“You fucking bitch! What in the hell made you think you could beat on my Sister! You knew she wouldn't fucking fight back... Answer me, God damn it!”

This is bad, Quinn sounds like she's lost it. I've never heard anyone so angry. “Jane?” She's hugging me so tightly that my voice is muffled by her shoulder.

“Daria, it's okay, just lean against me.” 

“I'm fine, Jane...” I say, although, knowing that she's basically holding me up, I'm certain she doesn't believe it. “I need my glasses, they should be somewhere to my right, can you find them for me, please?” I can feel the movement as Jane turns her head to look around and then her left arm moving from my side. “Thanks...” I hear her say to someone and then I feel something being placed into my right hand. “They look to be in good shape, Daria, someone saw them and picked them up.” 

Gathering what little strength I have left, I pull away slightly from Jane and carefully slip my glasses on. Thankfully, they seem to be undamaged and slowly, as my vision returns to normal, I assess the scene unfolding before me. Quinn is standing, her back to me, about three feet away. A few feet further away, laying on the floor, curled into a fetal pose, is Jodie Landon. Jodie's hands are pressed tightly to her face, which explains why her moaning sounds muffled. The sight of blood oozing from between her fingers to form a small puddle explains why she's moaning. Several of her corn rows are becoming stained a brownish-red as her head moves back-and-forth in concert with her moans dragging them through the growing puddle. 

“Get up, you fucking cunt! I haven't even begun to beat the shit out of you for what you did to my Sister! Get up, God damn it, or I swear I'll kick the shit out of you right where you are!”

“Jane, please, let me go to Quinn before something happens she'll regret.” Jane hesitates for a second, then slowly releases her hold on me and steps aside. I take two tentative steps and lightly place my right hand on Quinn's shoulder: spinning around to face me, Quinn stops and just stares at me her face a mask of shock. 

“Oh. My. God...” I find Quinn's frozen gaze and rough, hoarse whisper far more unsettling than her recent screaming. Loosely curling her left hand, Quinn – gently stroking my right cheek with the back of her fingers while at the same time cradling my left cheek in her right palm – tears welling, continued in the same disquieting whisper. “Daria, look what she did to you.”

Placing my right hand over her left, I replied “Don't worry, Quinn, I'm sure it's nowhere near as bad as it looks.” I try to smile to assure her, but the attempt only makes me wince in pain.

Seeing me wince, Quinn's features hardened and, after breathing in loudly through her nose, she hissed through clenched teeth: “I'm going to hurt her bad.”

Tightening my hold on her left hand, I implored: “No. Please, no. It's not worth it. Please, just stay with me.” Thankfully, Quinn listened for only seconds later Ms. Barch came running up.

“What are all you little hooligans doing milling around? Go to your classes. Now!” Ms. Barch barked out as the crowd scurried off posthaste. It was only then that I noticed how large a crowd had assembled. Then turning to my Sister, Jane and I “You two, take Ms. Morgendorffer to the Nurse's office. Ms Rowe, go to the ladies' room up the hall and bring me two piles of paper towels, one sopping wet and one dry. Once we've staunched the bleeding you'll help me take Ms. Landon to the Nurse.” I hadn't noticed Stacy standing not far from Jane, but at Ms. Barch's command, she sped off immediately in the direction of the lavatories.

With Quinn holding my right arm and Jane my left, we were just turning to leave when Ms. Barch said more quietly “I saw most of what happened here; so, don't worry ladies.” then, looking straight at my Sister, she added “Quinn, I heard everything you said, hell, I imagine just about everybody in the building did. Be thankful you didn't carry through with your threats. It's one thing to forcibly stop a person from attacking a loved one, it's another thing, altogether, to beat on a defenseless person... unless it's a Man, of course. I trust we understand each other.” Then waving us away she turned to attend to Jodie and we continued on our way. 

When we reached the Nurse's office Quinn asked Jane if she could manage alone. At Jane's affirmative nod, Quinn pulled out her cellphone and said that she'd be right in. Entering the Office, Nurse Chase took one look at me and, rushing from her desk, guided me to one of the vinyl-covered rest cots and helped me as I sat down. As she proceeded to check my vital signs and then perform a cursory examination of my injuries, a relieved expression replaced the Nurse's original look of concern confirming what I'd hoped to be the case, while apparently nasty looking my injuries seemed only superficial. Quinn returned as Nurse Chase was finishing up and said to the Nurse “I called our Mom, she's on her way here.”

“Oh, good.” Nurse Chase said in reply. “That saves me a little time.” Then after retrieving a clip board from her desk “I assume, young Lady, that you were in fight. I need you to give me the details, so whenever you're ready...” At that point she was interrupted by Ms. Barch and Stacy, who were half guiding, half carrying Jodie Landon into the office. “Nurse Chase, we need you, now!” Ms. Barch commanded as she and Stacy eased Jodie onto an empty cot. Seeing the much more serious condition of the new arrival, Nurse Chase hurried across the room, took one quick glance at Jodie, pulled a wheeled white cloth privacy screen from where it stood along the wall, between two adjacent cots and repositioned it to block our view. A moment later Stacy emerged from behind the screen and made her way over to us, while Ms. Barch remained behind the screen to assist the Nurse.

While the commotion was unfolding, Jane had somehow managed to find a bottle of spring water and, after unscrewing the cap, was now offering it to me. “Here, drink this. It'll help.” Jane said knowingly.

“Thanks, Jane. Where did you manage find this?” I asked before taking a couple of sips that, blessedly, removed most of the remaining acidic, metallic bile/blood taste from my mouth.

“From the fridge next to Nurse Chase's desk. I'm surprised she hadn't given you a bottle, she doles it out to just about everyone who come in here.”

Taking a few more sips made me feel a bit better, slightly reinvigorated, not only from the water but also from being able to sit for a few minutes. I was now curious as to what had occurred between my Sister and Jodie Landon. “Quinn, what did you do to Jodie Landon?”

“Well, Jane and I were just about to enter our classroom when someone starts yelling that there was a fight up the hall. I'm not sure why, but Jane was worried and asked me to come along. When we turned the corner I saw Jodie wailing on you, so I ran up hoping to distract her then tackle her. I yelled out to her but instead of just looking over she turned to face me with a fist raised, so I improvised and nutted her.”

“I'm sorry, Quinn, you... 'nutted' her?”

“Yep.” Then seeing my obvious confusion “As in headbutted. I'm pretty sure I broke her nose... serves her right.”

“Quinn, I'm grateful to you for saving me from that beating; but, did you have to break her nose to stop her?”

“I don't know: maybe, maybe not. Jeez, it wasn't like there was a lot of time to consider options, Daria.” And with that said the closeness, the tenderness that had been there only moments before simply evaporated, replaced by the reticence that had plagued our first few weeks together. After feeling the sisterly warmth that could exist between us, I couldn't bear the thought of losing it. 

“I'm sorry, Quinn, I shouldn't have questioned your actions, I love you too much.”

“I know, Daria, you keep telling me that.” By this point, Quinn had stepped back to stand next to Stacy, her tone of voice losing the energy there only minutes before.

“And I'll continue to tell you until you believe it. I love you, Quinn, unconditionally.”

“Somehow, Daria, I doubt that you could.” Even though her voice belied pain and disappointment, Quinn still delivered the words as if stating some clearly obvious and immutable truth. 

No more excuses, no more waiting, no more barriers: time that Quinn understood just how much I want my sister in my life. Looking her squarely in the eyes, I stated, in a calm clear voice “Quinn, I know.”

“Know?” Quinn asks evenly; although, the look she and Stacy are currently sharing with each other is a poignant symphony of worry. 

“About you and Stacy, I know and it has absolutely no bearing on the simple truth that I do love you, unconditionally.” As I'm speaking, Quinn shifts her gaze and stares venomously at Jane; obviously, believing that it was she who'd told me. “It wasn't Jane. In fact, we had a rather nasty argument over her keeping it from me.”

“Then who?” Quinn demanded in an incredulous voice.

“I'd like to say that I figured it out on my own, I knew that something was up but had no idea what. It was Mom.” 

“Mom? ... How?” Quinn asks in a suddenly fragile voice, barely above a whisper, as she and Stacy both stare at me with looks of unadulterated fear. Stacy, I remind myself, is the lynchpin, she's the one I need to reassure. Quinn's actions have been, mostly, out of necessity to protect Stacy. Knowing what would convey my feelings, my support for them, far better than words, I carefully push myself off of the cot and, after two deliberately cautious steps, wrap Stacy in a reassuring hug.

“Thank you.” I whisper into the now bewildered girl's ear, just loud enough for only her to hear. “You've made my Sister so happy. I don't know if I'll ever be able to, properly, express my gratitude to you.” As what I've said sinks in, Stacy's rigid pose suddenly relaxes and I realize that she's now returning the hug. Due to the battering, my upper body has absorbed, I find the intensity of the embrace somewhat uncomfortable; however, I could think of no amount of discomfort that would convince me to end this crucially important moment. When I notice that Stacy has begun to cry, I blindly reach out with my left arm in search of Quinn. When my hand locates it's target, I pull her into a three-way embrace. “I love you, Quinn” I say quietly, but with force. “Don't ever believe otherwise.” Then to both of them, I add: “I believe that you two have found something wonderful together. You can count on me, whenever or wherever. If you ever need anything, just ask, I'll be there.” By now, Quinn is quietly crying along with Stacy. It's only a few seconds later that I feel the tears slowly tracking down my cheeks as well. 

To be continued...


End file.
